IfllJ 


AMERICAN  NOTES 


BY 

RUDYARD  KIPLING 


NEW  YORK 

MANHATTAN    PRESS 
474  WEST  BROADWAY 


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j. 

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NOTE. 


THE  following  letters  were  written  by  ME. 
Kipling  in  1889,  while  on  a  trip  from  India 
to  England  by  way  of  the  United  States. 

They  were  published  as  special  correspond 
ence  in  the  Pioneer  of  India  at  the  time. 

THE  PUBLISHERS. 


AMERICAN  NOTES. 


i. 

•*  Then  spoke  der  Captain  Stossenkeim 
Who  had  theories  of  God, 
*  Oh,  Breitmann,  this  is  judgment  on 
Der  ways  dot  you  have  trod. 
You  only  lifs  to  enjoy  yourself 
While  you  yourself  agree 
Dot  self -development  requires 
Der  religious  Idee.'  " 

THIS  is  America. 

They  call  her  the  City  of  Peking,  and  she 
belongs  to  the  Pacific  Mail  Company,  but  for 
all  practical  purposes  she  is  the  United  States. 

We  are  divided  between  missionaries  and 
generals — generals  who  were  at  Vicksburg 
and  Shiloh,  and  German  by  birth,  but  more 
American  than  the  Americans,  who  in  confi 
dence  tell  you  that  they  are  not  generals  at 
all,  but  only  brevet  majors  of  militia  corps. 
The  missionaries  are  perhaps  the  queerest 
portion  of  the  cargo.  Did  you  ever  hear  an 
English  minister  lecture  for  half  an  hour  on 
the  freight-traffic  receipts  and  general  working 
7 


8  American  Notes. 

of',  let  $s:  say,  the  Midland  ?  The  Professor 
has  been  sitting  at  the  feet  of  a  keen-eyed, 
close-bearded,  swarthy  man  who  expounded 
unto  him  kindred  mysteries  with  a  fluency 
and  precision  that  a  city  leader-writer  might 
have  envied.  "Who's  your  financial  friend 
with  the  figures  at  his  fingers'  ends  ? "  I 
asked.  "  Missionary — Presbyterian  Mission 
to  the  Japs,"  said  the  Professor.  I  laid  my 
hand  upon  my  mouth  and  was  dumb. 

As  a  counterpoise  to  the  missionaries,  we 
carry  men  from  Manila — lean  Scotchmen  who 
gamble  once  a  month  in  the  Manila  State 
lottery  and  occasionally  turn  up  trumps.  One, 
at  least,  drew  a  ten-thousand-dollar  prize  last 
December  and  is  away  to  make  merry  in  the 
New  World.  Everybody  on  the  staff  of  an 
American  steamer  this  side  the  Continent 
seems  to  gamble  steadily  in  that  lottery,  and 
the  talk  of  the  smoking-room  runs  almost 
entirely  on  prizes  won  by  accident  or  lost 
through  a  moment's  delay.  The  tickets  are 
sold  more  or  less  openly  at  Yokohama 
and  Hong-Kong,  and  the  drawings — losers 
and  winners  both  agree  here — are  above  re 
proach. 

We  have  resigned  ourselves  to  the  infinite 
monotony  of  a  twenty  days'  voyage.  The 
Pacific  Mail  advertises  falsely.  Only  under 
the  most  favorable  circumstances  of  wind  and 
steam  can  their  under-engined  boats  cover 
the  distance  in  fifteen  days.  Our  City  of 


American  Notes.  9 

Peking,  for  instance,  had  been  jogging  along 
at  a  gentle  ten  knots  an  hour,  a  pace  out  of 
all  proportion  to  her  bulk.  "  When  we  get  a 
wind,"  says  the  Captain,  "  we  shall  do  better." 
She  is  a  four-master  and  can  carry  any 
amount  of  canvas.  It  is  not  safe  to  run 
steamers  across  this  void  under  the  poles  of 
Atlantic  liners.  The  monotony  of  the  sea  is 
paralyzing.  We  have  passed  the  wreck  of  a 
little  sealing-schooner  lying  bottom  up  and 
covered  with  gulls.  She  weltered  by  in  the 
chill  dawn,  unlovely  as  the  corpse  of  a  man  ; 
and  the  wild  birds  piped  thinly  at  us  as  they 
steered  her  across  the  surges.  The  pulse  of 
the  Pacific  is  no  little  thing  even  in  the  quieter 
moods  of  the  sea.  It  set  our  bows  swinging 
and  nosing  and  ducking  ere  we  were  a  day 
clear  of  Yokohama,  and  yet  there  was  never 
swell  nor  crested  wave  in  sight.  "  We  ride 
very  high,"  said  the  Captain,  "  and  she's  a 
dry  boat.  She  has  a  knack  of  crawling  over 
things  somehow  ;  but  we  shan't  need  to  put 
her  to  the  test  this  journey." 


The  Captain  was  mistaken.  For  four  days 
we  have  endured  the  sullen  displeasure  of  the 
North  Pacific,  winding  up  with  a  night  of  dis 
comfort.  It  began  with  a  gray  sea,  flying 
clouds,  and  a  head-wind  that  smote  fifty  knots 
off  the  day's  run.  Then  rose  from  the  south 
east  a  beam  sea  warranted  by  no  wind  that 


io  American  Notes. 

was  abroad  upon  the  waters  in  our  neighbor 
hood,  and  we  wallowed  in  the  trough  of  it  for 
sixteen  mortal  hours.  In  the  stillness  of  the 
harbor,  when  the  newspaper  man  is  lunching 
in  her  saloon  and  the  steam-launch  is  crawling 
round  her  sides,  a  ship  of  pride  is  a  "  stately 
liner."  Out  in  the  open,  one  rugged  shoulder 
of  a  sea  between  you  and  the  horizon,  she  be 
comes  "  the  old  hooker,"  a  "  lively  boat,"  and 
other  things  of  small  import,  for  this  is  nec 
essary  to  propitiate  the  Ocean.  "  There's 
a  storm  to  the  southeast  of  us,"  explained 
the  Captain.  "  That's  what's  kicking  up  this 
sea." 

The  City  of  Peking  did  not  belie  her  repu 
tation.  She  crawled  over  the  seas  in  liveliest 
wise,  never  shipping  a  bucket  till — she  was 
forced  to.  Then  she  took  it  green  over  the 
bows  to  the  vast  edification  of,  at  least,  one 
passenger  who  had  never  seen  the  scuppers 
full  before. 

Later  in  the  day  the  fun  began.  "  Oh, 
she's  a  daisy  at  rolling,"  murmured  the  chief 
steward,  flung  starfish-wise  on  a  table  among 
his  glassware.  "  She's  rolling  some,"  said  a 
black  apparition  new  risen  from  the  stoke 
hold.  "  Is  she  going  to  roll  any  more  ?  "  de 
manded  the  ladies  grouped  in  what  ought  to 
have  been  the  ladies' saloon,  but,  according  to 
American  custom,  was  labeled  "  Social  Hall." 

Passed  in  the  twilight  the  chief  officer — a 
dripping,  bearded  face.  "  Shall  I  mark  out 


American  Notes.  n 

the  bull-board  ? "  said  he,  and  lurched  aft, 
followed  by  the  tongue  of  a  wave.  "  She'll 
roll  her  guards  under  to-night,"  said  a  man 
from  Louisiana,  where  their  river-steamers  do 
not  understand  the  meaning  of  bulwarks. 
We  dined  to  a  dashing  accompaniment  of 
crockery,  the  bounds  of  emancipated  beer- 
bottles  livelier  than  their  own  corks,  and  the 
clamor  of  the  ship's  gong  broken  loose  and 
calling  to  meals  on  its  own  account. 

After  dinner  the  real  rolling  began.  She 
did  roll  "  guards  under,"  as  the  Louisiana 
man  had  prophesied.  At  thirty-minute  inter 
vals  to  the  second  arrived  one  big  sea,  when 
the  electric  lamps  died  down  to  nothing,  and 
the  screw  raved  and  the  blows  of  the  sea  made 
the  decks  quiver.  On  those  occasions  we 
moved  from  our  chairs,  not  gently,  but  dis 
courteously.  At  other  times  we  were  merely 
holding  on  with  both  hands. 

It  was  then  that  I  studied  Fear — Terror 
bound  in  black  silk  and  fighting  hard  with 
herself.  For  reasons  which  will  be  thoroughly 
understood,  there  was  a  tendency  among  the 
passengers  to  herd  together  and  to  address  in 
quiries  to  every  officer  who  happened  to  stagger 
through  the  saloon.  No  one  was  in  the  least 
alarmed, — oh  dear,  no, — but  all  were  keenly 
anxious  for  information.  This  anxiety  re 
doubled  after  a  more  than  usually  vicious  roll. 
Terror  was  a  large,  handsome,  and  cultured 
lady  who  knew  the  precise  value  of  human 


12  American  Notes. 

life,  the  inwardness  of  Robert  Elsmere,  th« 
latest  poetry — everything  in  fact  that  a  clever 
woman  should  know.  When  the  rolling  was 
near  its  worst,  she  began  to  talk  swiftly.  I  do 
not  for  a  moment  believe  that  she  knew  what 
she  was  talking  about.  The  rolling  increased. 
She  buckled  down  to  the  task  of  making  con 
versation.  By  the  heave  of  the  laboring 
bust,  the  restless  working  of  the  fingers  on  the 
tablecloth,  and  the  uncontrollable  eyes  that 
turned  always  to  the  companion  stairhead,  I 
was  able  to  judge  the  extremity  of  her  fear. 
Yet  her  words  were  frivolous  and  common 
place  enough  ;  they  poured  forth  unceasingly, 
punctuated  with  little  laughs  and  giggles,  as  a 
woman's  speech  should  be.  Presently,  a  mem 
ber  of  her  group  suggested  going  to  bed. 
No,  she  wanted  to  sit  up ;  she  wanted  to  go 
on  talking,  and  as  long  as  she  could  get  a  soul 
to  sit  with  her  she  had  her  desire.  When  for 
sheer  lack  of  company  she  was  forced  to  get 
to  her  cabin,  she  left  reluctantly,  looking 
back  to  the  well-lighted  saloon  over  her 
shoulder.  The  contrast  between  the  flowing 
triviality  of  her  speech  and  the  strained  in- 
tentness  of  eye  and  hand  was  a  quaint  thing 
to  behold.  I  know  now  how  Fear  should  be 
painted. 

No  one  slept  very  heavily  that  night.  Both 
arms  were  needed  to  grip  the  berth,  while  the 
trunks  below  wound  the  carpet  slips  into  knots 
and  battered  the  framing  of  the  cabins.  Once 


American  Notes.  13 

it  seemed  to  me  that  the  whole  of  the  laboring 
fabric  that  cased  our  trumpery  fortunes  stood 
on  end  and  in  this  undignified  posture  hopped 
a  mighty  hop.  Twice  I  know  I  shot  out  of  my 
berth  to  join  the  adventurous  trunks  on  the 
floor.  A  hundred  times  the  crash  of  the  wave 
on  the  ship's  side  was  followed  by  the  roar  of 
the  water,  as  it  swept  the  decks  and  raved 
round  the  deckhouses.  In  a  lull  I  heard  the 
flying  feet  of  a  man,  a  shout,  and  a  far-away 
chorus  of  lost  spirits  singing  somebody's 
requiem. 

May  24  (Queen's  Birthday). — If  ever  you 
meet  an  American,  be  good  to  him.  This 
day  the  ship  was  dressed  with  flags  from  stem 
to  stern,  and  chiefest  of  the  bunting  was  the 
Union-Jack.  They  had  given  no  word  of 
warning  to  the  English,  who  were  proportion 
ately  pleased.  At  dinner  up  rose  an  ex-Com 
missioner  of  the  Lucknow  Division  (on  my 
honor,  Anglo-India  extends  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth  !)  and  gave  us  the  health  of  Her  Majesty 
and  the  President.  It  was  afterwards  that  the 
trouble  began.  A  small  American  penned 
half  a  dozen  English  into  a  corner  and  lectured 
them  soundly  on — their  want  of  patriotism  ! 

"  What  sort  of  Queen's  Birthday  do  you 
call  this  ?  "  he  thundered.  "  What  did  you 
drink  our  President's  health  for  ?  What's  the 
President  to  you  on  this  day  of  all  others  ? 
Well,  suppose  you  are  in  the  minority,  all  the 
more  reason  for  standing  by  your  country. 


14  American  Notes. 

Don't  talk  to  me.  You  Britishers  made  a 
mess  of  it — a  mighty  bungle  of  the  whole 
thing.  I'm  an  American  of  the  Americans  ; 
but  if  no  one  can  propose  Her  Majesty's 
health  better  than  by  just  throwing  it  at  your 
heads,  I'm  going  to  try." 

Then  and  there  he  delivered  a  remarkably 
neat  little  oration — pat,  well  put  together,  and 
clearly  delivered.  So  it  came  to  pass  that  the 
Queen's  health  was  best  honored  by  an  Amer 
ican.  We  English  were  dazed.  I  wondered 
how  many  Englishmen  not  trained  to  address 
ing  their  fellows  would  have  spoken  half  so 
fluently  as  the  gentleman  from  'Frisco. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  one  of  us  feebly, 
"  she's  our  Queen,  anyhow,  and — and — she's 
been  ours  for  fifty  years,  and  not  one  of  us 
here  has  seen  England  for  seven  years,  and 
we  can't  enthuse  over  the  matter.  We've  lived 
to  be  hauled  over  the  coals  for  want  of  patriot 
ism  by  an  American  I  We'll  be  more  careful 
next  time." 

And  the  conversation  drifted  naturally  into 
the  question  of  the  government  of  men — Eng 
lish,  Japanese  (we  have  several  traveled  Jap 
anese  aboard),  and  Americans  throwing  the 
ball  from  one  to  another.  We  bore  in  mind 
the  golden  rule  :  "  Never  agree  with  a  man 
who  abuses  his  own  country,"  and  got  on  well 
enough. 

"  Japan,"  said  a  little  gentleman  who  was  a 
rich  man  there,  "  Japan  is  divided  into  two 


American  Notes.  15 

administrative  sides.  On  the  one  the  remains 
of  a  very  strict  and  quite  Oriental  despotism  ; 
on  the  other  a  mass  of — what  do  you  call  it  ? 
— red-tapeism  which  is  not  understood  even 
by  the  officials  who  handle  it.  We  copy  the 
red  tape,  and  when  it  is  copied  we  believe 
that  we  administer.  That  is  a  vice  of  all  Ori 
ental  nations.  We  are  Orientals." 

"  Oh  no,  say  the  most  westerly  of  the  west 
erns,"  purred  an  American,  soothingly. 

The  little  man  was  pleased.  "  Thanks. 
That  is  what  we  hope  to  believe,  but  up  to 
the  present  it  is  not  so.  Look  now.  A  farmer 
in  my  country  holds  a  hillside  cut  into  little 
terraces.  Every  year  he  must  submit  to  his 
Government  a  statement  of  the  size  and  reve 
nue  paid,  not  on  the  whole  hillside,  but  on  each 
terrace.  The  complete  statement  makes  a 
pile  three  inches  high,  and  is  of  no  use  when 
it  is  made  except  to  keep  in  work  thousands 
of  officials  to  check  the  returns.  Is  that  ad 
ministration  ?  By  God  1  we  call  it  so,  but  we 
multiply  officials  by  the  twenty,  and  they  are 
not  administration.  What  country  is  such  a 
fool  ?  Look  at  our  Government  offices  eaten 
up  with  clerks  !  Some  day,  I  tell  you,  there 
will  be  a  smash." 

This  was  new  to  me,  but  I  might  have 
guessed  it.  In  every  country  where  swords 
and  uniforms  accompany  civil  office  there  is 
a  natural  tendency  towards  an  ill-considered 
increase  of  officialdom. 


16  American  Notes. 

"  You  might  pay  India  a  visit  some  day,"  I 
said.  "  I  fancy  that  you  would  find  that  our 
country  shares  your  trouble." 

Thereupon  a  Japanese  gentleman  in  the 
Educational  Department  began  to  cross-ques 
tion  me  on  the  matters  of  his  craft  in  India, 
and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  got  from  me  the 
very  little  that  I  knew  about  primary  schools, 
higher  education,  and  the  value  of  an  M.  A. 
degree.  He  knew  exactly  what  he  wanted  to 
ask,  and  only  dropped  me  when  the  tooth  of 
desire  had  clean  picked  the  bone  of  igno 
rance. 

Then  an  American  held  forth,  harping  on  a 
string  that  has  already  been  too  often  twanged 
in  my  ear.  "  What  will  it  be  in  America  it 
self  ?  " 

"  The  whole  system  is  rotten  from  top  to 
bottom,"  he  said.  "  As  rotten  as  rotten  can 
be." 

"  That's  so,"  said  the  Louisiana  man,  with 
an  affirmative  puff  of  smoke. 

"  They  call  us  a  Republic.  We  may  be.  I 
don't  think  it.  You  Britishers  have  got  the 
only  republic  worth  the  name.  You  choose  to' 
run  your  ship  of  state  with  a  gilt  figurehead  ; 
but  I  know,  and  so  does  every  man  who  has 
thought  about  it,  that  your  Queen  doesn't  cost 
you  one-half  what  our  system  oi  pure  democ 
racy  costs  us.  Politics  in  America  ?  There 
aren't  any.  The  whole  question  of  the  day  is 
spoils.  That's  all.  We  fight  our  souls  out 


American  Notes.  17 

over  tram-contracts,  gas-contracts,  road-con 
tracts,  and  any  darned  thing  that  will  turn  a 
dishonest  dollar,  and  we  call  that  politics.  No 
one  but  a  low-down  man  will  run  for  Congress 
and  the  Senate — the  Senate  of  the  freest 
people  on  earth  are  bound  slaves  to  some 
blessed  monopoly.  If  I  had  money  enough,  I 
could  buy  the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  the 
Eagle,  and  the  Star-Spangled  Banner  com 
plete." 

"  And  the  Irish  vote  included  ? "  said  some 
cue — a  Britisher,  I  fancy. 

"  Certainly,  if  I  chose  to  go  yahooing  down 
the  street  at  the  tail  of  the  British  lion.  Any 
thing  dirty  will  buy  the  Irish  vote.  That's 
why  our  politics  are  dirty.  Some  day  you 
Britishers  will  grant  Home  Rule  to  the  vermin 
in  our  blankets.  Then  the  real  Americans 
will  invite  the  Irish  to  get  up  and  git  to  where 
they  came  from.  'Wish  you'd  hurry  up  that 
time  before  we  have  another  trouble.  We're 
bound  hand  and  foot  by  the  Irish  vote  ;  or  at 
least  that's  the  excuse  for  any  unusual  theft 
that  we  perpetrate.  I  tell  you  there's  no  good 
in  an  Irishman  except  as  a  fighter.  He  doesn't 
understand  work.  He  has  a  natural  gift  of 
the  gab,  and  he  can  drink  a  man  blind.  These 
three  qualifications  make  him  a  first-class 
politician." 

With  one  accord  the  Americans  present 
commenced  to  abuse  Ireland  and  its  people  as 
they  had  met  them,  and  each  man  prefaced 

2 


i8  American  Notes. 

his  commination  service  with :  "  I  am  an 
American  by  birth — an  American  from  way 
back." 

It  must  be  an  awful  thing  to  live  in  a  coun 
try  where  you  have  to  explain  that  you  really 
belong  there.  Louder  grew  the  clamor  and 
crisper  the  sentiments. 

"  If  we  weren't  among  Americans,  I  should 
say  we  were  consorting  with  Russians,"  said  a 
fellow-countryman  in  my  ear. 

"  They  can't  mean  what  they  say,"  I  whis 
pered.  "  Listen  to  this  fellow." 

"  And  I  know,  for  I  have  been  three  times 
round  the  world  and  resided  in  most  countries 
on  the  Continent,  that  there  was  never  people 
yet  could  govern  themselves." 

"  Allah  1     This  from  an  American  1 " 

"  And  who  should  know  better  than  an 
American  ? "  was  the  retort.  "  For  the  igno 
rant — that  is  to  say  for  the  majority — there  is 
only  one  argument — fear  ;  the  fear  of  Death. 
In  our  case  we  give  any  scallawag  who  comes 
across  the  water  all  the  same  privileges  that 
we  have  made  for  ourselves.  There  we  make 
a  mistake.  They  thank  us  by  playing  the 
fool.  Then  we  shoot  them  down.  You  can't 
persuade  the  mob  of  any  country  to  become 
decent  citizens.  If  they  misbehave  them 
selves,  shoot  them.  I  saw  the  bombs  thrown 
at  Chicago  when  our  police  were  blown  to  bits. 
I  saw  the  banners  in  the  procession  that  threw 
the  bombs.  All  the  mottoes  on  them  were  in 


American  Notes.  19 

German.  The  men  were  aliens  in  our  midst, 
and  they  were  shot  down  like  dogs.  I've  been 
in  labor  riots  and  seen  the  militia  go  through 
a  crowd  like  a  ringer  through  tissue  paper." 

"  I  was  in  the  riots  at  New  Orleans,"  said 
the  man  from  Louisiana.  "  We  turned  the 
Gatling  on  the  other  crowd,  and  they  were 
sick." 

"  Whew !  I  wonder  what  would  have  hap 
pened  if  a  Gatling  had  been  used  when  the 
West  End  riots  were  in  full  swing  ? "  said  an 
Englishman.  "  If  a  single  rioter  were  killed 
in  an  English  town  by  the  police,  the  chances 
are  that  the  policeman  would  have  to  stand 
his  trial  for  murder  and  the  Ministry  of  the 
day  would  go  out." 

"  Then  you've  got  all  your  troubles  before 
you.  The  more  power  you  give  the  people, 
the  more  trouble  they  will  give.  With  us  our 
better  classes  are  corrupt  and  our  lower  classes 
are  lawless.  There  are  millions  of  useful,  law- 
abiding  citizens,  and  they  are  very  sick  of  this 
thing.  We  execute  our  justice  in  the  streets. 
The  law  courts  are  no  use.  Take  the  case  of 
the  Chicago  Anarchists.  It  was  all  we  could 
do  to  get  'em  hanged ;  whereas  the  dead  in 
the  streets  had  been  punished  offhand.  We 
•were  sure  of  them.  Guess  that's  the  reason 
we  are  so  quick  to  fire  on  a  mob.  But  it's 
unfair,  all  the  same.  We  receive  all  these 
cattle — Anarchists,  Socialists,  and  ruffians  of 
every  sort — and  then  we  shoot  them.  The 


2O  American  Notes. 

States  are  as  republican  as  they  make  'em.  \Ve 
have  no  use  for  a  man  who  wants  to  try  any 
more  experiments  on  the  Constitution.  We 
are  the  biggest  people  on  God's  earth.  All 
the  world  knows  that.  We've  been  shouting 
that  we  are  also  the  greatest  people.  No  one 
cares  to  contradict  us  but  ourselves  ;  and  we 
are  now  wondering  whether  we  are  what  we 
claim  to  be.  Never  mind  ;  you  Britishers  will 
have  the  same  experiences  to  go  through. 
You're  beginning  to  rot  now.  Your  County 
Councils  will  make  you  more  rotten  because 
you  are  putting  power  into  the  hands  of  un 
trained  people.  When  you  reach  our  level, — 
every  man  with  a  vote  and  the  right  to  sell  it ; 
the  right  to  nominate  fellows  of  his  own  kidney 
to  swamp  out  better  men, — you'll  be  what  we 
are  now — rotten,  rotten,  rotten  !  " 

The  voice  ceased,  and  no  man  rose  up  to 
contradict. 

•  "  We'll  worry  through  it  somehow,"  said  the 
man  from  Louisiana.  "  What  would  do  us  a 
world  of  good  now  would  be  a  big  European 
war.  We're  getting  slack  and  sprawly.  Now 
a  war  outside  our  borders  would  make  us  all 
pull  together.  But  that's  a  luxury  we  shan't 
get." 

"Can't  you  raise  one  within  your  own 
borders  ? "  I  said  flippantly,  to  get  rid  of  the 
thought  of  the  great  blind  nation  in  her  unrest 
putting  out  her  hand  to  the  Sword.  Mine  was 
a  most  unfortunate  remark. 


American  Notes.  21 

"  1  nope  not,"  said  an  American,  very 
seriously.  "  We  have  paid  a  good  deal  to  keep 
ourselves  together  before  this,  and  it  is  not 
likely  that  we  shall  split  up  without  protest. 
Yet  some  say  we  are  too  large,  and  some  say 
that  Washington  and  the  Eastern  States  are 
running  the  whole  country.  If  ever  we  do 
divide, — God  help  us  when  we  do, — it  will  be 
East  and  West  this  time." 

"  We  built  the  old  hooker  too  long  in  the 
run.  Put  the  engine-room  aft.  Break  her 
back,"  said  an  American  who  had  not  yet 
spoken.  "  'Wonder  if  our  forebears  knew  how 
she  was  going  to  grow." 

"  A  very  large  country."  The  speaker 
sighed  as  though  the  weight  of  it  from  New 
York  to  'Frisco  lay  upon  his  shoulders.  "  If 
ever  we  do  divide,  it  means  that  we  are  done 
for.  There  is  no  room  for  four  first-class 
empires  in  the  States.  One  split  will  lead  to 
another  if  the  first  is  successful.  What's  the 
use  of  talking  ?  " 

What  was  the  use  ?  Here's  our  conversa* 
tion  as  it  ran,  the  night  of  the  Queen's  Birth 
day.  What  do  you  think  ? 


American  Notes. 


II. 

*  Serene,  indifferent  to  fate, 
Thou  sittest  at  the  western  gate, 
Thou  seest  the  white  sea*  fold  their  tents. 
Oh  warder  of  two  Continents. 
Thou  drawest  all  things  small  and  great 
To  thee  beside  the  Western  Gate." 

THIS  is  what  Bret  Harte  has  written  of  the 
great  city  of  San  Francisco,  and  for  the  past 
fortnight  I  have  been  wondering  what  made 
him  do  it. 

There  is  neither  serenity  nor  indifference 
to  be  found  in  these  parts  ;  and  evil  would  it 
be  for  the  Continent  whose  wardship  were  in 
trusted  to  so  reckless  a  guardian. 

Behold  me  pitched  neck-and-crop  from 
twenty  days  of  the  High  Seas,  into  the  whirl 
of  California,  deprived  of  any  guidance,  and 
left  to  draw  my  own  conclusions.  Protect  me 
from  the  wrath  of  an  outraged  community  if 
these  letters  be  ever  read  by  American  eyes. 
San  Francisco  is  a  mad  city — inhabited  for 
the  most  part  by  perfectly  insane  people 
whose  women  are  of  a  remarkable  beauty. 

When  the  City  of  Peking  steamed  through 
the  Golden  Gate  I  saw  with  great  joy  that  the 
block-house  which  guarded  the  mouth  of  the 
"  finest  harbor  in  the  world.  Sir,"  could  be 


American  Notes.  23 

silenced  by  two  gunboats  from  Hong-Kong 
with  safety,  comfort,  and  despatch. 

Then  a  reporter  leaped  aboard,  and  ere  I 
could  gasp  held  me  in  his  toils.  He  pumped 
me  exhaustively  while  I  was  getting  ashore, 
demanding,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  news 
about  Indian  journalism.  It  is  an  awful  thing 
to  enter  a  new  land  with  a  new  lie  on  your 
lips.  I  spoke  the  truth  to  the  evil-minded 
Custom-house  man  who  turned  my  most 
sacred  raiment  on  a  floor  composed  of  stable- 
refuse  and  pine-splinters ;  but  the  reporter 
overwhelmed  me  not  so  much  by  his  poignant 
audacity  as  his  beautiful  ignorance.  I  am 
sorry  now  that  I  did  not  tell  him  more  lies  as 
I  passed  into  a  city  of  three  hundred  thou 
sand  white  men.  Think  of  it !  Three  hun 
dred  thousand  white  men  and  women  gathered 
in  one  spot,  walking  upon  real  pavements  in 
front  of  real  plate-glass  windowed  shops,  and 
talking  something  that  was  not  very  different 
from  English.  It  was  only  when  I  had 
tangled  myself  up  in  a  hopeless  maze  of 
small  wooden  houses,  dust,  street-refuse,  and 
children  who  play  with  empty  kerosene  tins, 
that  I  discovered  the  difference  of  speech. 

"You  want  to  go  to  the  Palace  Hotel?" 
said  an  affable  youth  on  a  dray.  "  What  in 
hell  are  you  doing  here,  then  ?  This  is  about 
the  lowest  place  in  the  city.  Go  six  blocks 
north  to  the  corner  of  Geary  and  Market ; 
then  walk  around  till  you  strike  corner  of 


24  American  Notes. 

Gutter  and  Sixteenth,  and  that  brings  you 
there." 

I  do  not  vouch  for  the  literal  accuracy  of 
these  directions,  quoting  but  from  a  dis 
ordered  memory. 

"  Amen,"  I  said.  "  But  who  am  I  that  I 
should  strike  the  corners  of  such  as  you 
name  ?  Peradventure  they  be  gentlemen  of 
repute,  and  might  hit  back.  Bring  it  down 
to  dots,  my  son." 

I  thought  he  would  have  smitten  me,  but 
he  didn't.  He  explained  that  no  one  ever 
used  the  word  "  street,"  and  that  every  one 
was  supposed  to  know  how  the  streets  run : 
for  sometimes  the  names  were  upon  the  lamps 
and  sometimes  they  weren't.  Fortified  with 
these  directions  I  proceeded  till  I  found  a 
mighty  street  full  of  sumptuous  buildings  four 
or  five  stories  high,  but  paved  with  rude 
cobble-stones  in  the  fashion  of  the  Year  One. 
A  cable-car  without  any  visible  means  of 
support  slid  stealthily  behind  me  and  nearly 
struck  me  in  the  back.  A  hundred  yards 
further  there  was  a  slight  commotion  in  the 
street — a  gathering  together  of  three  or  four 
— and  something  glittered  as  it  moved  very 
swiftly.  A  ponderous  Irish  gentleman  with 
priest's  cords  in  his  hat  and  a  small  nickel- 
plated  badge  on  his  fat  bosom  emerged  from 
the  knot,  supporting  a  Chinaman  who  had 
been  stabbed  in  the  eye  and  was  bleeding 
like  a  pig.  The  bystanders  went  their  ways, 


American  Notes.  25 

and  the  Chinaman,  assisted  by  the  policeman, 
his  own.  Of  course  this  was  none  of  my 
business,  but  I  rather  wanted  to  know  what 
had  happened  to  the  gentleman  who  had 
dealt  the  stab.  It  said  a  great  deal  for  the 
excellence  of  the  municipal  arrangements  of 
the  town  that  a  surging  crowd  did  not  at  once 
block  the  street  to  see  what  was  going  for 
ward.  I  was  the  sixth  man  and  the  last  who 
assisted  at  the  performance,  and  my  curiosity 
was  six  times  the  greatest.  Indeed,  I  felt 
ashamed  of  showing  it. 

There  were  no  more  incidents  till  I  reached 
the  Palace  Hotel,  a  seven-storied  warren  of 
humanity  with  a  thousand  rooms  in  it.  All  the 
travel-books  will  tell  you  about  hotel  arrange 
ments  in  this  country.  They  should  be  seen 
to  be  appreciated.  Understand  clearly — and 
this  letter  is  written  after  a  thousand  miles  of 
experiences — that  money  will  not  buy  you 
service  in  the  West. 

When  the  hotel  clerk — the  man  who  awards 
your  room  to  you  and  who  is  supposed  to  give 
you  information — when  that  resplendent  indi 
vidual  stoops  to  attend  to  your  wants,  he  does 
so  whistling  or  humming,  or  picking  his  teeth, 
or  pauses  to  converse  with  some  one  he  knows. 
These  performances,  I  gather,  are  to  impress 
upon  you  that  he  is  a  free  man  and  your  equal. 
From  his  general  appearance  and  the  size  of 
his  diamonds  he  ought  to  be  your  superior. 
There  is  np  necessity  for  this  swaggering 


26  American  Notes. 

self-consciousness  of  freedom,  Business  is 
business,  and  the  man  who  is  paid  to  attend 
to  a  man  might  reasonably  devote  his  whole 
attention  to  the  job. 

.  /  In  a  vast  marble-paved  hall  under  the  glare 
of  an  electric  light  sat  forty  or  fifty  men ;  and 
for  their  use  and  amusement  were  provided 
spittoons  of  infinite  capacity  and  generous 
gape.  Most  of  the  men  wore  frock-coats  and 
top-hats, — the  things  that  we  in  India  put  on 
at  a  wedding  breakfast  if  we  possessed  them, 
— but  they  all  spat.  They  spat  on  principle. 
The  spittoons  were  on  the  staircases,  in  each 
bedroom — yea,  and  in  chambers  even  more 
sacred  than  these.  They  chased  one  into 
retirement,  but  they  blossomed  in  chiefest 
splendor  round  the  Bar,  and  they  were  all 
used,  every  reeking  one  of  'em. 

Just  before  I  began  to  feel  deathly  sick, 
another  reporter  grappled  me.  What  he 
wanted  to  know  was  the  precise  area  of  India 
in  square  miles.  I  referred  him  to  Whittaker. 
He  had  never  heard  of  Whittaker.  He  wanted 
it  from  my  own  mouth,  and  I  would  not  tell 
him.  Then  he  swerved  off,  like  the  other 
man,  to  details  of  journalism  in  our  own 
country.  I  ventured  to  suggest  that  the  inte 
rior  economy  of  a  paper  most  concerned  the 
people  who  worked  it.  "  That's  the  very 
thing  that  interests  us,"  he  said.  "  Have  you 
got  reporters  anything  like  our  reporters  on 
Indian  newspapers  ?  "  "  We  have  not,"  I  said, 


American  Notes.  27 

and  suppressed  the  "  thank  God  "  rising  to  my 
lips.  "  Why  haven't  you  ?  "  said  he.  "  Be 
cause  they  would  die,"  I  said.  It  was  exactly 
like  talking  to  a  child — a  very  rude  little 
child.  He  would  begin  almost  every  sentence 
with:  "Now  tell  me  something  about  India," 
and  would  turn  aimlessly  from  one  question  to 
another  without  the  least  continuity.  I  was 
not  angry,  but  keenly  interested.  The  man 
was  a  revelation  to  me.  To  his  questions  I 
returned  answers  mendacious  and  evasive. 
After  all,  it  really  did  not  matter  what  I  said. 
He  could  not  understand.  I  can  only  hope 
and  pray  that  none  of  the  readers  of  the  Pioneer 
will  ever  see  that  portentous  interview.  The 
man  made  me  out  to  be  an  idiot  several  sizes 
more  driveling  than  my  destiny  intended,  and 
the  rankness  of  his  ignorance  managed  to 
distort  the  few  poor  facts  with  which  I  sup 
plied  him  into  large  and  elaborate  lies.  Then 
thought  I :  "  The  matter  of  American  journal 
ism  shall  be  looked  into  later  on.  At  present 
I  will  enjoy  myself." 

No  man  rose  to  tell  me  what  were  the  lions 
of  the  place.  No  one  volunteered  any  sort  of 
conveyance.  I  was  absolutely  alone  in  this 
big  city  of  white  folk.  By  instinct  I  sought 
refreshment  and  came  upon  a  bar-room,  full 
of  bad  Salon  pictures,  in  which  men  with  hats 
on  the  backs  of  their  heads  were  wolfing  food 
from  a  counter.  It  was  the  institution  of  the 
"  Free  Lunch  "  that  I  had  struck.  You  paid 


28  American  Notes. 

for  a  drink  and  got  as  much  as  you  wanted  to 
eat.  For  something  less  than  a  rupee  a  day 
a  man  can  feed  himself  sumptuously  in  San 
Francisco,  even  though  he  be  bankrupt.  Re 
member  this  if  ever  you  are  stranded  in  these 
parts. 

Later,  I  began  a  vast  but  unsystematic  ex 
ploration  of  the  streets.  I  asked  for  no  names. 
It  was  enough  that  the  pavements  were  full  of 
white  men  and  women,  the  streets  clanging 
with  traffic,  and  that  the  restful  roar  of  a  great 
city  rang  in  my  ears.  The  cable-cars  glided 
to  all  points  of  the  compass.  I  took  them 
one  by  one  till  I  could  go  no  farther.  San 
Francisco  has  been  pitched  down  on  the  sand 
bunkers  of  the  Bikaneer  desert.  About  one- 
fourth  of  it  is  ground  reclaimed  from  the  sea 
— any  old-timer  will  tell  you  all  about  that. 
The  remainder  is  ragged,  unthrifty  sand-hills, 
pegged  down  by  houses. 

From  an  English  point  of  view  there  has 
not  been  the  least  attempt  at  grading  those 
hills,  and  indeed  you  might  as  well  try  to  grade 
the  hillocks  of  Sind.  The  cable-cars  have  for 
all  practical  purposes  made  San  Francisco  a 
dead  level.  They  take  no  count  of  rise  or  fall, 
but  slide  equably  on  their  appointed  courses 
from  one  end  to  the  other  of  a  six-mile  street. 
They  turn  corners  almost  at  right  angles ;  cross 
other  lines,  and,  for  aught  I  know,  may  run 
up  the  sides  of  houses.  There  is  no  visible 
agency  of  their  flight ;  but  once  in  a  while 


American  Notes.  29 

you  shall  pass  a  five-storied  building,  humming 
with  machinery  that  winds  up  an  everlasting 
wire-cable,  and  the  initiated  will  tell  you  that 
here  is  the  mechanism.  I  gave  up  asking 
questions.  If  it  pleases  Providence  to  make  a 
car  run  up  and  down  a  slit  in  the  ground  for 
many  miles,  and  if  for  twopence-halfpenny  I 
can  ride  in  that  car,  why  shall  I  seek  the  rea 
sons  of  the  miracle  ?  Rather  let  me  look  out 
of  the  windows  till  the  shops  give  place  to 
thousands  and  thousands  of  little  houses  made 
of  wood — each  house  just  big  enough  for  a 
man  and  his  family.  Let  me  watch  the  peo 
ple  in  the  cars,  and  try  to  find  out  in  what 
manner  they  differ  from  us,  their  ancestors. 

They  delude  themselves  into  the  belief  that 
they  talk  English, — the  English, — and  I  have 
already  been  pitied  for  speaking  with  "an 
English  accent."  The  man  who  pitied  me 
spoke,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  the  language 
of  thieves.  And  they  all  do.  Where  we  put 
the  accent  forward,  they  throw  it  back,  and 
vice  versa  ;  where  we  use  the  long  a,  they  use 
the  short ;  and  words  so  simple  as  to  be  past 
mistaking,  they  pronounce  somewhere  up  in 
the  dome  of  their  heads.  How  do  these  things 
happen  ? 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  says  that  Yankee 
schoolmarms,  the  cider,  and  the  salt  codfish 
of  the  Eastern  States  are  responsible  for  what 
he  calls  a  nasal  accent.  A  Hindu  is  a  Hindu, 
and  a  brother  to  the  man  who  knows  his  ver- 


30  American  Notes. 

nacular ;  and  a  Frenchman  is  French  because 
he  speaks  his  own  language ;  but  the  Ameri 
can  has  no  language.  He  is  dialect,  slang, 
provincialism,  accent,  and  so  forth.  Now  that 
I  have  heard  their  voices,  all  the  beauty  of 
Bret  Harte  is  being  ruined  for  me,  because  I 
find  myself  catching  through  the  roll  of  his 
rhythmical  prose  the  cadence  of  his  peculiar 
fatherland.  Get  an  American  lady  to  read  to 
you  "  How  Santa  Glaus  came  to  Simpson's 
Bar,"  and  see  how  much  is,  under  her  tongue, 
left  of  the  beauty  of  the  original. 

But  I  am  sorry  for  Bret  Harte.  It  hap 
pened  this  way.  A  reporter  asked  me  what  I 
thought  of  the  city,  and  I  made  answer  suavely 
that  it  was  hallowed  ground  to  me  because  of 
Bret  Harte.  That  was  true. 

"  Well,"  said  the  reporter,  "  Bret  Harte 
claims  California,  but  California  don't  claim 
Bret  Harte.  He's  been  so  long  in  England 
that  he's  quite  English.  Have  you  seen  our 
cracker-factories  and  the  new  offices  of  the 
Examiner  ?  "  He  could  not  understand  that 
to  the  outside  world  the  city  was  worth  a  great 
deal  less  than  the  man. 


Night  fell  over  the  Pacific,  and  the  white 
sea-fog  whipped  through  the  streets,  dimming 
the  splendors  of  the  electric  lights.  It  is  the 
use  of  this  city,  her  men  and  women,  to  parade 
between  the  hours  of  eight  and  ten  a  certain 


American  Notes.  31 

street,  called  Kearney  Street,  where  the  finest 
shops  are  situated.  Here  the  click  of  heels 
on  the  pavement  is  loudest,  here  the  lights  are 
brightest,  and  here  the  thunder  of  the  traffic  is 
most  overwhelming.  I  watched  Young  Cali 
fornia  and  saw  that  it  was  at  least  expensively 
dressed,  cheerful  in  manner,  and  self-asserting 
in  conversation.  Also  the  women  are  very 
fair.  The  maidens  were  of  generous  build, 
large,  well-groomed,  and  attired  in  raiment 
that  even  to  my  inexperienced  eyes  must  have 
cost  much.  Kearney  Street,  at  nine  o'clock, 
levels  all  distinctions  of  rank  as  impartially  as 
the  grave.  Again  and  again  I  loitered  at  the 
heels  of  a  couple  of  resplendent  beings,  only 
to  overhear,  when  I  expected  the  level  voice 
of  culture,  the  staccato  "  Sez  he,"  «  Sez  I," 
that  is  the  mark  of  the  white  servant-girl  all 
the  world  over. 

This  was  depressing  because,  in  spite  of  all 
that  goes  to  the  contrary,  fine  feathers  ought 
to  make  fine  birds.  There  was  wealth — un 
limited  wealth — in  the  streets,  but  not  an  ac 
cent  that  would  not  have  been  dear  at  fifty 
cents.  Wherefore,  revolving  in  my  mind  that 
these  folk  were  barbarians,  I  was  presently  en 
lightened  and  made  aware  that  they  also  were 
the  heirs  of  all  the  ages,  and  civilized  after  all. 
There  appeared  before  me  an  affable  stranger 
of  prepossessing  appearance,  with  a  blue  and 
an  innocent  eye.  Addressing  me  by  name, 
he  claimed  to  have  met  me  in  New  York  at 


32  American  Notes. 

the  Windsor,  and  to  this  claim  I  gave  a  quali 
fied  assent.  I  did  not  remember  the  fact,  but 
since  he  was  so  certain  of  it,  why  then — I 
waited  developments. 

"  And  what  did  you  think  of  Indiana  when 
you  came  through  ?  "  was  the  next  question. 

It  revealed  the  mystery  of  previous  ac 
quaintance,  and  one  or  two  other  things. 
With  reprehensible  carelessness,  my  friend  of 
the  light-blue  eye  had  looked  up  the  name 
of  his  victim  in  the  hotel  register  and  read 
"  India  "  for  Indiana. 

He  could  not  imagine  an  Englishman  com 
ing  through  the  States  from  West  to  East  in 
stead  of  by  the  regularly  ordained  route.  My 
fear  was  that  in  his  delight  at  finding  me  so 
responsive  he  would  make  remarks  about  New 
York  and  the  Windsor  which  I  could  not 
understand.  And  indeed,  he  adventured  in 
this  direction  once  or  twice,  asking  me  what  I 
thought  of  such  and  such  streets,  which,  from 
his  tone,  I  gathered  were  anything  but  re 
spectable.  It  is  trying  to  talk  unknown  New 
York  in  almost  unknown  San  Francisco.  But 
my  friend  was  merciful.  He  protested  that  I 
was  one  after  his  own  heart,  and  pressed  upon 
me  rare  and  curious  drinks  at  more  than  one 
bar.  These  drinks  I  accepted  with  gratitude, 
as  also  the  cigars  with  which  his  pockets  were 
stored.  He  would  show  me  the  Life  of  the 
city.  Having  no  desire  to  watch  a  weary  old 
play  again,  I  evaded  the  offer,  and  received  in 


American  Notes.  33 

lieu  of  the  Devil's  instruction  much  coarse 
flattery.  Curiously  constituted  is  the  soul  of 
man.  Knowing  how  and  where  this  man  lied ; 
waiting  idly  for  the  finale  ;  I  was  distinctly 
conscious,  as  he  bubbled  compliments  in  my 
ear,  of  soft  thrills  of  gratified  pride.  I  was 
wise,  quoth  he,  anybody  could  see  that  with 
half  an  eye ;  sagacious ;  versed  in  the  affairs 
of  the  world ;  an  acquaintance  to  be  desired  -r 
one  who  had  tasted  the  cup  of  Life  with  dis 
cretion. 

All  this  pleased  me,  and  in  a  measure 
numbed  the  suspicion  that  was  thoroughly 
aroused  Eventually  the  blue-eyed  one  dis 
covered,  nay  insisted,  that  I  had  a  taste  for 
cards  (this  was  clumsily  worked  in,  but  it  was 
my  fault,  in  that  I  met  him  half-way,  and  al 
lowed  him  no  chance  of  good  acting).  Here 
upon,  I  laid  my  head  to  one  side,  and  simulated 
unholy  wisdom,  quoting  odds  and  ends  of 
poker-talk,  all  ludicrously  misapplied.  My 
friend  kept  his  countenance  admirably;  and 
well  he  might,  for  five  minutes  later  we  ar 
rived,  always  by  the  purest  of  chances,  at 
a  place  where  we  could  play  cards,  and  also 
frivol  with  Louisiana  State  Lottery  tickets. 
Would  I  play  ? 

"  Nay,"  said  I,  "  for  to  me  cards  have 
neither  meaning  nor  continuity ;  but  let  us 
assume  that  I  am  going  to  play.  How  would 
you  and  your  friends  get  to  work  ?  Would 
you  play  a  straight  game  or  make  me  drunk, 
3 


34  American  Notes. 

or — well,  the  fact  is  I'm  a  newspaper  man, 
and  I'd  be  much  obliged  if  you'd  let  me  know 
something  about  bunco-steering." 

My  blue-eyed  friend  cursed  me  by  his  gods, 
— the  Right  and  the  Left  Bower ;  he  even 
cursed  the  very  good  cigars  he  had  given  me. 
But,  the  storm  over,  he  quieted  down  and  ex 
plained.  I  apologized  for  causing  him  to 
waste  an  evening,  and  we  spent  a  very  pleasant 
time  together. 

Inaccuracy,  provincialism,  and  a  too  hasty 
rushing  to  conclusions  were  the  rocks  that  he 
had  split  on  ;  but  he  got  his  revenge  when  he 
said  : 

"  How  would  I  play  with  you  ?  From  all 
the  poppycock  "  (Anglice,  bosh)  "  you  talked 
about  poker,  I'd  ha'  played  a  straight  game 
and  skinned  you.  I  wouldn't  have  taken  the 
trouble  to  make  you  drunk.  You  never  knew 
anything  of  the  game;  but  the  way  I  was 
mistaken  in  you  makes  me  sick." 

He  glared  at  me  as  though  I  had  done  him 
an  injury.  To-day  I  know  how  it  is  that,  year 
after  year,  week  after  week,  the  bunco-steerer, 
who  is  the  confidence-trick  and  the  card-sharper 
man  of  other  climes,  secures  his  prey.  He 
slavers  them  over  with  flattery,  as  the  snake 
slavers  the  rabbit.  The  incident  depressed 
me  because  it  showed  I  had  left  the  innocent 
East  far  behind,  and  was  come  to  a  country 
where  a  man  must  look  out  for  himself.  The 
very  hotel  glistened  with  notices  about  keep* 


American  Notes.  35 

ing  my  door  locked,  and  depositing  my  valu 
ables  in  a  safe.  The  white  man  in  a  lump  is 
bad.  Weeping  softly  for  O-Toyo  (little  I 
knew  then  that  my  heart  was  to  be  torn 
afresh  from  my  bosom !),  I  fell  asleep  in  the 
clanging  hotel. 

Next  morning  I  had  entered  upon  the  De 
ferred  Inheritance.  {  There  are  no  princes  in 
America, — at  least  with  crowns  on  their  heads, 
— but  a  generous-minded  member  of  some 
royal  family  received  my  letter  of  introduc 
tion.  Ere  the  day  closed  I  was  a  member  of 
the  two  clubs  and  booked  for  many  engage 
ments  to  dinner  and  party.  Now  this  prince, 
upon  whose  financial  operations  be  continual 
increase,  had  no  reason,  nor  had  the  others,  his 
friends,  to  put  himself  out  for  the  sake  of  one 
Briton  more  or  less  ;  but  he  rested  not  till  he 
had  accomplished  all  in  my  behalf  that  a 
mother  could  think  of  for  her  debutante  daugh 
ter.  Do  you  know  the  Bohemian  Club  of  San 
Francisco  ?  They  say  its  fame  extends  over 
the  world.  It  was  created  somewhat  on  the 
lines  of  the  Savage  by  men  who  wrote  or  drew 
things,  and  it  has  blossomed  into  most  unre- 
publican  luxury.  The  ruler  of  the  place  is  an 
owl — an  owl  standing  upon  a  skull  and  cross- 
bones,  showing  forth  grimly  the  wisdom  of  the 
man  of  letters  and  the  end  of  his  hopes  for 
immortality.  The  owl  stands  on  the  stair 
case,  a  statue' four  feet  high,  is  carved  in  the 
woodwork,  flutters  on  the  frescoed  ceilings,  is 


36  American  Notes, 

stamped  on  the  note-paper,  and  hangs  on  the 
walls.  He  is  an  Ancient  and  Honorable  Bird. 
Under  his  wing  'twas  my  privilege  to  meet 
with  white  men  whose  lives  were  not  chained 
down  to  routine  of  toil,  who  wrote  magazine 
articles  instead  of  reading  them  hurriedly  in 
the  pauses  of  office-work,  who  painted  pictures 
instead  of  contenting  themselves  with  cheap 
etchings  picked  up  at  another  man's  sale  of 
effects.  Mine  were  all  the  rights  of  social  in 
tercourse  that  India,  stony-hearted  stepmother 
of  Collectors,  has  swindled  us  out  of.  Tread 
ing  soft  carpets  and  breathing  the  incense  of 
superior  cigars,  I  wandered  from  room  to 
room  studying  the  paintings  in  which  the 
members  of  the  club  had  caricatured  them 
selves,  their  associates,  and  their  aims.  There 
was  a  slick  French  audacity  about  the  work 
manship  of  these  men  of  toil  unbending  that 
went  straight  to  the  heart  of  the  beholder. 
And  yet  it  was  not  altogether  French.  A  dry 
grimness  of  treatment,  almost  Dutch,  marked 
the  difference.  The  men  painted  as  they 
spoke — with  certainty.  The  club  indulges  in 
revelries  which  it  calls  "  jinks  " — high  and 
low, — at  intervals, — and  each  of  these  gather 
ings  is  faithfully  portrayed  in  oils  by  hands 
that  know  their  business.  In  this  club  were 
no  amateurs  spoiling  canvas  because  they 
fancied  they  could  handle  oils  without  knowl 
edge  of  shadows  or  anatomy — no  gentleman 
of  leisure  ruining  the  temper  of  publishers  and 


American  Notes.  37 

an  already  ruined  market  with  attempts  to 
write  "  because  everybody  writes  something 
these  days." 

My  hosts  were  working,  or  had  worked,  for 
their  daily  bread  with  pen  or  paint,  and  their 
talk  for  the  most  part  was  of  the  shop  shoppy 
— that  is  to  say,  delightful.  They  extended  a 
large  hand  of  welcome  and  were  as  brethren, 
and  I  did  homage  to  the  Owl  and  listened  to 
their  talk.  An  Indian  Club  about  Christmas 
time  will  yield,  if  properly  worked,  an  abun 
dant  harvest  of  queei  tales  ;  but  at  a  gathering 
of  Americans  from  the  uttermost  ends  of  their 
own  continent  the  tales  are  larger,  thicker, 
more  spinous,  and  even  more  azure  than  any 
Indian  variety.  Tales  of  the  War  I  heard 
told  by  an  ex-officer  of  the  South  over  his 
evening  drink  to  a  Colonel  of  the  Northern 
army ;  my  introducer,  who  had  served  as  a 
trooper  in  the  Northern  Horse,  throwing  in 
emendations  from  time  to  time. 

Other  voices  followed  with  equally  won 
drous  tales  of  riata-throwing  in  Mexico  or 
Arizona,  of  gambling  at  army  posts  in  Texas, 
of  newspaper  wars  waged  in  godless  Chicago, 
of  deaths  sudden  and  violent  in  Montana  and 
Dakota,  of  the  loves  of  half-breed  maidens  in 
the  South,  and  fantastic  huntings  for  gold  in 
mysterious  Alaska.  Above  all,  they  told  the 
story  of  the  building  of  old  San  Francisco, 
when  the  "  finest  collection  of  humanity  on 
God's  earth,  Sir,  started  this  town,  and  the 


38  American  Notes. 

water  came  up  to  the  foot  of  Market  Street.* 
Very  terrible  were  some  of  the  tales,  grimly 
humorous  the  others,  and  the  men  in  broad 
cloth  and  fine  linen  who  told  them  had  played 
their  parts  in  them. 

"  And  now  and  again  when  things  got  too 
bad  they  would  toll  the  city  bell,  and  the 
Vigilance  Committee  turned  out  and  hanged 
the  suspicious  characters.  A  man  didn't 
begin  to  be  suspected  in  those  days  till  he  had 
committed  at  least  one  unprovoked  murder," 
said  a  calm-eyed,  portly  <old  gentleman. 

I  looked  at  the  pictures  around  me,  the 
noiseless,  neat-uniformed  waiter  behind  me, 
the  oak-ribbed  ceiling  above,  the  velvety  car 
pet  beneath.  It  was  hard  to  realize  that  even 
twenty  years  ago  you  could  see  a  man  hanged 
with  great  pomp.  Later  on  I  found  reason  to 
change  my  opinion.  The  tales  gave  me  a 
headache  and  set  me  thinking.  How  in  the 
world  was  it  possible  to  take  in  even  one- 
thousandth  of  this  huge,  roaring,  many-sided 
continent  ?  In  the  silence  of  the  sumptuous 
library  lay  Professor  Bryce's  book  on  the 
American  Republic. 

"  It  is  an  omen,"  said  I.  "  He  has  done 
all  things  in  all  seriousness,  and  he  may  be 
purchased  for  half  a  guinea.  Those  who 
desire  information  of  the  most  undoubted 
must  refer  to  his  pages.  For  me  is  the  daily 
round  of  vagabondage,  the  recording  of  the 
incidents  of  the  hour,  and  talk  with  the  trav* 


American  Notes.  39 

eling  companion  of  the  day.  I  will  not  '  do  ' 
this  country  at  all." 

And  I  forgot  all  about  India  for  ten  daya 
while  I  went  out  to  dinners  and  watched  the 
social  customs  of  the  people,  which  are  entirely 
different  from  our  customs,  and  was  introduced 
to  the  men  of  many  millions.  These  persons 
are  harmless  in  their  earlier  stages  ;  that  is  to 
say,  a  man  worth  three  or  four  million  dollars 
may  be  a  good  talker,  clever,  amusing,  and  of 
the  world  ;  a  man  with  twice  that  amount  is  to 
be  avoided  ;  and  a  twenty-million  man  is— 
just  twenty  millions.  Take  an  instance.  I 
was  speaking  to  a  newspaper  man  about  seeing 
the  proprietor  of  his  journal.  My  friend 
snorted  indignantly  : 

"  See  him  !  Great  Scott !  No  !  If  he  hap 
pens  to  appear  in  the  office,  I  have  to  asso 
ciate  with  him  ;  but,  thank  Heaven,  outside 
of  that  I  move  in  circles  where  he  cannot 
come." 

And  yet  the  first  thing  I  have  been  taught 
to  believe  is  that  money  was  everything  in 
America  1 


American  Notes. 


III. 

*  Poor  men— -God  made,  and  all  for  that !  * 

IT  was  a  bad  business  throughout,  and  the 
only  consolation  is  that  it  was  all  my  fault. 

A  man  took  me  round  the  Chinese  quarter 
of  San  Francisco,  which  is  a  ward  of  the  city 
of  Canton  set  down  in  the  most  eligible  busi 
ness-quarter  of  the  place. 

The  Chinaman  with  his  usual  skill  has  pos 
sessed  himself  of  good  brick  fire-proof  build 
ings  and,  following  instinct,  has  packed  each 
tenement  with  hundreds  of  souls,  all  living  in 
filth  and  squalor  not  to  be  appreciated  save 
by  you  in  India.  That  cursory  investigation 
ought  to  have  sufficed ;  but  I  wanted  to  know 
how  deep  in  the  earth  the  Pig-tail  had  taken 
root.  Therefore  I  explore  the  Chinese  quar 
ter  a  second  time  and  alone,  which  was  fool 
ishness.  No  one  in  the  filthy  streets  (but  fot 
the  blessed  sea  breezes  San  Francisco  would 
enjoy  cholera  every  season)  interfered  with 
my  movements,  though  many  asked  for  cum- 
shaw.  I  struck  a  house  about  four  stories 
high  full  of  celestial  abominations,  and  began 
to  burrow  down  ;  having  heard  that  these  tene 
ments  were  constructed  on  the  lines  of  ice 
bergs — two-thirds  below  sight  level.  Down- 


American  Notes.  41 

stairs  I  crawled  past  Chinamen  in  bunks, 
opium-smokers,  brothels,  and  gambling  hells, 
till  I  had  reached  the  second  cellar — was,  in 
fact,  in  the  labyrinths  of  a  warren.  Great  is 
the  wisdom  of  the  Chinaman.  In  time  of 
trouble  that  house  could  be  razed  to  the 
ground  by  the  mob,  and  yet  hide  all  its  inhab 
itants  in  brick-walled  and  wooden-beamed 
subterranean  galleries,  strengthened  with  iron- 
framed  doors  and  gates.  On  the  second 
underground  floor  a  man  asked  for  cumshaw 
and  took  me  down-stairs  to  yet  another  cellar, 
where  the  air  was  as  thick  as  butter,  and  the 
lamps  burned  little  holes  in  it  not  more  than 
an  inch  square.  In  this  place  a  poker  club 
had  assembled  and  was  in  full  swing.  The 
Chinaman  loves  "  pokel,"  and  plays  it  with 
great  skill,  swearing  like  a  cat  when  he  loses. 
Most  of  the  men  round  the  table  were  in  semi- 
European  dress,  their  pig-tails  curled  up  under 
billy-cock  hats.  One  of  the  company  looked 
like  a  Eurasian,  whence  I  argued  that  he  was 
a  Mexican — a  supposition  that  later  inquiries 
confirmed.  They  were  a  picturesque  set  of 
fiends  and  polite,  being  too  absorbed  in  their 
game  to  look  at  the  stranger.  We  were  all 
deep  down  under  the  earth,  and  save  for  the 
rustle  of  a  blue  gown  sleeve  and  the  ghostly 
whisper  of  the  cards  as  they  .were  shuffled 
and  played,  there  was  no  sound.  The  heat 
was  almost  unendurable.  There  was  some 
dispute  between  the  Mexican  and  the  man  on 


42  American  Notes. 

his  left.  The  latter  shifted  his  place  to  put 
the  table  between  himself  and  his  opponent, 
and  stretched  a  lean  yellow  hand  towards  the 
Mexican's  winnings. 

Mark  how  purely  man  is  a  creature  of  in 
stinct.  Rarely  introduced  to  the  pistol,  I  saw 
the  Mexican  half  rise  in  his  chair  and  at  the 
same  instant  found  myself  full  length  on  the 
floor.  None  had  told  me  that  this  was  the 
best  attitude  when  bullets  are  abroad.  I  was 
there  prone  before  I  had  time  to  think — drop 
ping  as  the  room  was  filled  with  an  intolerable 
clamor  like  the  discharge  of  a  cannon.  In  those 
close  quarters  the  pistol  report  had  no  room  to 
spread  any  more  than  the  smoke — then  acrid 
in  my  nostrils.  There  was  no  second  shot,  but 
a  great  silence  in  which  I  rose  slowly  to  my 
knees.  The  Chinaman  was  gripping  the  table 
with  both  hands  and  staring  in  front  of  him  at 
an  empty  chair.  The  Mexican  had  gone,  and 
a  little  whirl  of  smoke  was  floating  near  the 
roof.  Still  gripping  the  table,  the  Chinaman 
said  :  "  Ah  1 "  in  the  tone  that  a  man  would 
use  when,  looking  up  from  his  work  suddenly, 
he  sees  a  well-known  friend  in  the  doorway. 
Then  he  coughed  and  fell  over  to  his  own 
right,  and  I  saw  that  he  had  been  shot  in  the 
stomach. 

I  became  aware  that,  save  for  two  men 
leaning  over  the  stricken  one,  the  room  was 
empty ;  and  all  the  tides  of  intense  fear,  hith 
erto  held  back  by  intenser  curiosity,  swept 


American  Notes.  43 

over  my  soul.  I  ardently  desired  the  outside 
air.  It  was  possible  that  the  Chinamen  would 
mistake  me  for  the  Mexican, — everything 
horrible  seemed  possible  just  then, — and  it 
was  more  than  possible  that  the  stairways 
would  be  closed  while  they  were  hunting  for 
the  murderer.  The  man  on  the  floor  coughed 
a  sickening  cough.  I  heard  it  as  I  fled,  and 
one  of  his  companions  turned  out  the  lamp. 
Those  stairs  seemed  interminable,  and  to  add 
to  my  dismay  there  was  no  sound  of  commo 
tion  in  the  house.  No  one  hindered,  no  one 
even  looked  at  me.  There  was  no  trace  of 
the  Mexican.  I  found  the  doorway  and,  my 
legs  trembling  under  me,  reached  the  protec 
tion  of  the  clear  cool  night,  the  fog,  and  the 
rain.  I  dared  not  run,  and  for  the  life  of  me 
I  could  not  walk.  I  must  have  effected  a 
compromise,  for  I  remember  the  light  of  a 
street  lamp  showed  the  shadow  of  one  half 
skipping — caracoling  along  the  pavements  in 
what  seemed  to  be  an  ecstasy  of  suppressed 
happiness.  But  it  was  fear — deadly  fear. 
Fear  compounded  of  past  knowledge  of  the 
Oriental — only  other  white  man — available 
witness — three  stories  underground — and  the 
cough  of  the  Chinaman  now  some  forty  feet 
under  my  clattering  boot-heels.  It  was  good 
to  see  the  shop-fronts  and  electric  lights  again. 
Not  for  anything  would  I  have  informed  the 
police,  because  I  firmly  believed  that  the 
Mexican  had  been  dealt  with  somewhere  down 


44  American  Notes. 

there  on  the  third  floor  long  ere  I  had  reached 
the  air;  and,  moreover,  once  clear  of  the 
place,  I  could  not  for  the  life  of  me  tell  where 
it  was.  My  ill-considered  flight  brought  me 
out  somewhere  a  mile  distant  from  the  hotel ; 
and  the  clank  of  the  lift  that  bore  me  to  a  bed 
six  stories  above  ground  was  music  in  my 
ears.  Wherefore  I  would  impress  it  upon  you 
who  follow  after,  do  not  knock  about  the 
Chinese  quarters  at  night  and  alone.  You 
may  stumble  across  a  picturesque  piece  of 
human  nature  that  will  unsteady  your  nerves 
lor  half  a  day. 


And  this  brings  me  by  natural  sequence  to 
the  great  drink  question.  As  you  know,  of 
course,  the  American  does  not  drink  at  meals 
as  a  sensible  man  should.  Indeed,  he  has  no 
meals.  He  stuffs  for  ten  minutes  thrice  a  day. 
Also  he  has  no  decent  notions  about  the  sun 
being  over  the  yard-arm  or  below  the  horizon. 
He  pours  his  vanity  into  himself  at  unholy 
hours,  and  indeed  he  can  hardly  help  it.  You 
have  no  notion  of  what  "  treating  "  means  on 
the  Western  slope.  It  is  more  than  an  insti 
tution  ;  it  is  a  religion,  though  men  tell  me  that 
it  is  nothing  to  what  it  was.  Take  a  very  com 
mon  instance.  At  10.30  A.  M.  a  man  is  smit 
ten  with  a  desire  for  stimulants.  He  is  in 
the  company  of  two  friends.  All  three  ad 
journ  to  the  nearest  bar, — seldom  more  than 


American  Notes.  45 

twenty  yards  away, — and  take  three  straight 
whiskies.  They  talk  for  two  minutes.  The 
second  and  third  man  then  treats  in  order  ;  and 
thus  each  walks  into  the  street,  two  of  them 
the  poorer  by  three  goes  of  whisky  under  their 
belt  and  one  with  two  more  liquors  than  he 
wanted.  It  is  not  etiquette  yet  to  refuse  a 
treat.  The  result  is  peculiar.  I  have  never 
yet,  I  confess,  seen  a  drunken  man  in  the 
streets,  but  I  have  heard  more  about  drunken 
ness  among  white  men,  and  seen  more  decent 
men  above  or  below  themselves  with  drink, 
than  I  care  to  think  about.  And  the  vice 
runs  up  into  all  sorts  of  circles  and  societies. 
Never  was  I  more  astonished  than  at  one 
pleasant  dinner  party  to  hear  a  pair  of  pretty 
lips  say  casually  of  a  gentleman  friend  then 
under  discussion,  "  He  was  drunk."  The 
fact  was  merely  stated  without  emotion.  That 
was  what  startled  me.  But  the  climate  of 
California  deals  kindly  with  excess,  and 
treacherously  covers  up  its  traces.  A  man 
neither  bloats  nor  shrivels  in  this  dry  air. 
He  continues  with  the  false  bloom  of  health 
upon  his  cheeks,  an  equable  eye,  a  firm 
mouth,  and  a  steady  hand  till  a  day  of  reckon 
ing  arrives,  and  suddenly  breaking  up,  about 
the  head,  he  dies,  and  his  friends  speak  his 
epitaph  accordingly.  Why  people  who  in 
most  cases  cannot  hold  their  liquor  should 
play  with  it  so  recklessly  I  leave  to  others  to 
decide.  This  unhappy  state  of  affairs  has, 


46  American  Notes. 

however,  produced  one  good  result  which  I 
will  confide  to  you.  In  the  heart  of  the  busi 
ness  quarter,  where  banks  and  bankers  are 
thickest,  and  telegraph  wires  most  numeroust 
stands  a  semi-subterranean  bar  tended  by  a 
German  with  long  blond  locks  and  a  crystal 
line  eye.  Go  thither  softly,  treading  on  the 
tips  of  your  toes,  and  ask  him  for  a  Button 
Punch.  'Twill  take  ten  minutes  to  brew,  but 
the  result  is  the  highest  and  noblest  product 
of  the  age.  No  man  but  one  knows  what  is 
in  it.  I  have  a  theory  it  is  compounded  of 
the  shavings  of  cherubs'  wings,  the  glory  of  a 
tropical  dawn,  the  red  clouds  of  sunset,  and 
fragments  of  lost  epics  by  dead  masters.  But 
try  you  for  yourselves,  and  pause  a  while  to 
bless  me,  who  am  always  mindful  of  the 
truest  interests  of  my  brethren. 

But  enough  of  the  stale  spilth  of  bar-rooms. 
Turn  now  to  the  august  spectacle  of  a  Gov 
ernment  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the 
people,  as  it  is  understood  in  the  city  of  San 
Francisco.  Professor  Bryce's  book  will  tell 
you  that  every  American  citizen  over  twenty- 
one  years  of  age  possesses  a  vote.  He  may 
not  know  how  to  run  his  own  business,  con 
trol  his  wife,  or  instil  reverence  into  his  chil 
dren,  may  be  pauper,  half-crazed  with  drink, 
bankrupt,  dissolute,  or  merely  a  born  fool ; 
but  he  has  a  vote.  If  he  likes,  he  can  be 
voting  most  of  his  time — voting  for  his  State 
Governor,  his  municipal  officers,  local  option, 


American  Notes.  47 

sewage  contracts,  or  anything  else  of  which 
he  has  no  special  knowledge. 

Once  every  four  years  he  votes  for  a  new 
President.  In  his  spare  moments  he  votes 
for  his  own  judges — the  men  who  shall 
give  him  justice.  These  are  dependent  on 
popular  favor  for  re-election  inasmuch  as  they 
are  but  chosen  for  a  term  of  years — two  or 
three,  I  believe.  Such  a  position  is  mani 
festly  best  calculated  to  create  an  independ 
ent  and  unprejudiced  administrator.  Now 
this  mass  of  persons  who  vote  is  divided  into 
two  parties — Republican  and  Democrat.  They 
are  both  agreed  in  thinking  that  the  other 
part  is  running  creation  (which  is  America) 
into  red  flame.  Also  the  Democrat  as  a  party 
drinks  more  than  the  Republican,  and  when 
drunk  may  be  heard  to  talk  about  a  thing 
called  the  Tariff,  which  he  does  not  under 
stand,  but  which  he  conceives  to  be  the  bul 
wark  of  the  country  or  else  the  surest  power 
for  its  destruction.  Sometimes  he  says  one 
thing  and  sometimes  another,  in  order  to 
contradict  the  Republican,  who  is  always  con 
tradicting  himself.  And  this  is  a  true  and 
lucid  account  of  the  forepart  of  American 
politics.  The  behind-part  is  otherwise. 

Since  every  man  has  a  vote  and  may  vote 
on  every  conceivable  thing,  it  follows  that 
there  exist  certain  wise  men  who  understand 
the  art  of  buying  up  votes  retail,  and  vending 
them  wholesale  to  whoever  wants  them  most 


48  American  Notes. 

urgently.  Now  an  American  engaged  ia 
making  a  home  for  himself  has  not  time  to 
vote  for  turncocks  and  district  attorneys  and 
cattle  of  that  kind,  but  the  unemployed  have 
much  time  because  they  are  always  on  hand 
somewhere  in  the  streets.  They  are  called 
"  the  boys,"  and  form  a  peculiar  class.  The 
boys  are  young  men  ;  inexpert  in  war,  un 
skilled  in  labor ;  who  have  neither  killed  a 
man,  lifted  cattle,  or  dug  a  well.  In  plain 
English,  they  are  just  the  men  in  the  streets 
who  can  always  be  trusted  to  rally  round  any 
cause  that  has  a  glass  of  liquor  for  a  visible 
heart.  They  wait — they  are  on  hand — ;  and 
in  being  on  hand  lies  the  crown  and  the  glory 
of  American  politics.  The  wise  man  is  he 
who,  keeping  a  liquor  saloon  and  judiciously 
dispensing  drinks,  knows  how  to  retain  within 
arm's  reach  a  block  of  men  who  will  vote  for 
or  against  anything  under  the  canopy  of 
Heaven.  Not  every  saloon-keeper  can  do 
this.  It  demands  careful  study  of  city  poli 
tics,  tact,  the  power  of  conciliation,  and  infi 
nite  resources  of  anecdote  to  amuse  and  keep 
the  crowd  together  night  after  night,  till  the 
saloon  becomes  a  salon.  Above  all,  the 
liquor  side  of  the  scheme  must  not  be  worked 
for  immediate  profit.  The  boys  who  drink  so 
freely  will  ultimately  pay  their  host  a  thou 
sandfold.  An  Irishman,  and  an  Irishman 
pre-eminently,  knows  how  to  work  such  a 
saloon  parliament.  Observe  for  a  moment 


American  Notes.  49 

the  plan  of  operations.  The  rank  and  file 
are  treated  to  drink  and  a  little  money — and 
they  vote.  He  who  controls  ten  votes  re 
ceives  a  proportionate  reward ;  the  dispenser 
of  a  thousand  votes  is  worthy  of  reverence, 
and  so  the  chain  runs  on  till  we  reach  the 
most  successful  worker  of  public  saloons — the 
man  most  skilful  in  keeping  his  items  to 
gether  and  using  them  when  required.  Such 
a  man  governs  the  city  as  absolutely  as  a 
king.  And  you  would  know  where  the  gain 
comes  in  ?  The  whole  of  the  public  offices  of 
a  city  (with  the  exception  of  a  very  few  wrhere 
special  technical  skill  is  required)  are  short-term 
offices  distributed  accordingto  "  political "  lean 
ings.  What  would  you  have  ?  A  big  city  re 
quires  many  officials.  Each  office  carries  a  sal 
ary  and  influence  worth  twice  the  pay.  The 
offices  are  for  the  representatives  of  the  men 
who  keep  together  and  are  on  hand  to  vote. 
The  Commissioner  of  Sewage,  let  us  say,  is  a 
gentleman  who  has  been  elected  to  his  office  by 
a  Republican  vote.  He  knows  little  and  cares 
less  about  sewage,  but  he  has  sense  enough 
to  man  the  pumping-works  and  the  street- 
sweeping  -  machines  with  the  gentlemen 
who  elected  him.  The  Commissioner  of 
Police  has  been  helped  to  his  post  very 
largely  by  the  influence  of  the  boys  at  such 
and  such  a  saloon.  He  may  be  the  guardian 
of  city  morals,  but  he  is  not  going  to  allow 
his  subordinates  to  enforce  early  closing  or 


5o  American  Notes. 

abstention  from  gambling  in  that  saloon. 
Most  offices  are  limited  to  four  years,  conse 
quently  he  is  a  fool  who  does  not  make  his 
office  pay  him  while  he  is  in  it. 

The  only  people  who  suffer  by  this  happy 
arrangement  are,  in  fact,  the  people  who  de 
vised  the  lovely  system.  And  they  suffer 
because  they  are  Americans.  Let  us  explain. 
As  you  know,  every  big  city  here  holds  at 
least  one  big  foreign  vote — generally  Irish, 
frequently  German.  In  San  Francisco,  the 
gathering  place  of  the  races,  there  is  a  distinct 
Italian  vote  to  be  considered,  but  the  Irish 
vote  is  more  important.  For  this  reason  the 
Irishman  does  not  kill  himself  with  overwork. 
He  is  made  for  the  cheery  dispensing  of 
liquors,  for  everlasting  blarney,  and  possesses 
a  wonderfully  keen  appreciation  of  the  weak 
nesses  of  lesser  human  nature.  Also  he  has 
no  sort  of  conscience,  and  only  one  strong 
conviction — that  of  deep-rooted  hatred  toward 
England.  He  keeps  to  the  streets,  he  is  on 
hand,  he  votes  joyously,  spending  days  lavish 
ly, — and  time  is  the  American's  dearest  com 
modity.  Behold  the  glorious  result.  To-day 
the  city  of  San  Francisco  is  governed  by  the 
Irish  vote  and  the  Irish  influence,  under  the 
rule  of  a  gentleman  whose  sight  is  impaired, 
and  who  requires  a  man  to  lead  him  about  the 
streets.  He  is  called  officially  "  Boss  Buck 
ley,"  and  unofficially  the  "  Blind  White  Devil." 
I  have  before  me  now  the  record  of  his 


American  Notes.  51 

amiable  career  in  black  and  white.  It  occupies 
four  columns  of  small  print,  and  perhaps  you 
would  think  it  disgraceful.  Summarized,  it  is 
as  follows  :  Boss  Buckley,  by  tact  and  deep 
knowledge  of  the  seamy  side  of  the  city,  won 
himself  a  following  of  voters.  He  sought  no 
office  himself,  or  rarely  :  but  as  his  following 
increased  he  sold  their  services  to  the  highest 
bidder,  himself  taking  toll  of  the  revenues  of 
every  office.  He  controlled  the  Democratic 
party  in  the  city  of  San  Francisco.  The 
people  appoint  their  own  judges.  Boss  Buck 
ley's  people  appointed  judges.  These  judges 
naturally  were  Boss  Buckley's  property.  I 
have  been  to  dinner  parties  and  heard  edu 
cated  men,  not  concerned  with  politics,  telling 
stories  one  to  another  of  "  justice,''  both  civil 
and  criminal,  being  bought  with  a  price  from 
the  hands  of  these  judges.  Such  tales  they 
told  without  heat,  as  men  recording  facts. 
Contracts  for  road-mending,  public  buildings, 
and  the  like  are  under  the  control  of  Boss 
Buckley,  because  the  men  whom  Buckley's 
following  sent  to  the  City  Council  adjudicate 
on  these  contracts ;  and  on  each  and  every  one 
of  these  contracts  Boss  Buckley  levies  his 
percentage  for  himself  and  his  allies. 

The  Republican  party  in  San  Francisco  also 
have  their  boss.  He  is  not  so  great  a  genius 
as  Boss  Buckley,  but  I  decline  to  believe  that 
he  is  any  whit  more  virtuous.  He  has  a 
smaller  number  of  votes  at  his  command. 


$2  American  Notes. 


IV. 


I  HAVE  been  watching  machinery  in  repose 
after  reading  about  machinery  in  action. 

An  excellent  gentleman  who  bears  a  name 
honored  in  the  magazines  writes,  much  as 
Disraeli  orated,  of  "  the  sublime  instincts  of 
an  ancient  people,"  the  certainty  with  which 
they  can  be  trusted  to  manage  their  own  af 
fairs  in  their  own  way,  and  the  speed  with 
which  they  are  making  for  all  sorts  of  desir 
able  goals.  This  he  called  a  statement  or 
purview  of  American  politics. 

I  went  almost  directly  afterwards  to  a  saloon 
where  gentlemen  interested  in  ward  politics 
nightly  congregate.  They  were  not  pretty 
persons.  Some  of  them  were  bloated,  and 
they  all  swore  cheerfully  till  the  heavy  gold 
watch-chains  on  their  fat  stomachs  rose  and 
fell  again  ;  but  they  talked  over  their  liquor  as 
men  who  had  power  and  unquestioned  access 
to  places  of  trust  and  profit. 

The  magazine-writer  discussed  theories  of 
government ;  these  men  the  practice.  They 
had  been  there.  They  knew  all  about  it. 
They  banged  their  fist  on  the  table  and  spoke 
of  political  "  pulls,"  the  vending  of  votes,  and 
so  forth.  Theirs  was  not  the  talk  of  village 
babblers  reconstructing  the  affairs  of  the  na- 


American  Notes.  53 

tion,  but  of  strong,  coarse,  lustful  men  lighting 
for  spoil  and  thoroughly  understanding  the 
best  methods  of  reaching  it.  I  listened  long 
and  intently  to  speech  I  could  not  understand, 
or  only  in  spots.  It  was  the  speech  of  busi 
ness,  however.  I  had  sense  enough  to  know 
that,  and  to  do  my  laughing  outside  the  door. 
Thei\  I  began  to  understand  why  my  pleasant 
and  well-educated  hosts  in  San  Francisco 
spoke  with  a  bitter  scorn  of  such  duties  of 
citizenship  as  voting  and  taking  an  interest  in 
the  distribution  of  offices.  Scores  of  men 
have  told  me  with  no  false  pride  that  they 
would  as  soon  concern  themselves  with  the 
public  affairs  of  the  city  or  State  as  rake 
inuck.  Read  about  politics  as  the  cultured 
writer  of  the  magazines  regards  'em,  and  then, 
and  not  till  then,  pay  your  respects  to  the 
gentlemen  who  run  the  grimy  reality. 

I'm  sick  of  interviewing  night-editors,  who, 
in  response  to  my  demand  for  the  record  of  a 
prominent  citizen,  answers  :  "  Well,  you  see,  he 
began  by  keeping  a  saloon,"  etc.  I  prefer  to 
believe  that  my  informants  are  treating  me  as 
in  the  old  sinful  days  in  India  I  was  used  to 
treat  our  wandering  Globe-trotters.  They 
declare  that  they  speak  the  truth,  and  the 
news  of  dog-politics  lately  vouchsafed  to  me  in 
groggeries  incline  me  to  believe — but  I  won'L 
^Fhe  people  are  much  too  nice  to  slangander 
as  recklessly  as  I  have  been  doing.  Besides, 
I  am  hopelessly  in  love  with  about  eight 


54  American  Notes. 

American  maidens — all  perfectly  delightful 
till  the  next  one  comes  into  the  room. 
O-Toyo  was  a  darling,  but  she  lacked  sev 
eral  things  ;  conversation,  for  one.  You  can 
not  live  on  giggles.  She  shall  remain  un 
moved  at  Nagasaki  while  I  roast  a  battered 
heart  before  the  shrine  of  a  big  Kentucky 
blonde  who  had  for  a  nurse,  when  she  was 
little,  a  negro  "mammy."  By  consequence 
she  has  welded  on  to  Californian  beauty,  Paris 
dresses,  Eastern  culture,  Europe  trips,  and 
wild  Western  originality,  the  queer  dreamy 
superstitions  of  the  negro  quarters,  and  the 
result  is  soul-shattering.  And  she  is  but  one 
of  many  stars.  Item,  a  maiden  who  believes 
in  education  and  possesses  it,  with  a  few  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars  to  boot,  and  a  taste  for 
slumming.  Item,  the  leader  of  a  sort  of  in 
formal  salon  where  girls  congregate,  read 
papers,  and  daringly  discuss  metaphysical 
problems  and  candy — a  sloe-eyed,  black- 
browed  imperious  maiden.  Item,  a  very  small 
maiden,  absolutely  without  reverence,  who  can 
in  one  swift  sentence  trample  upon  and  leave 
gasping  half  a  dozen  young  men.  Item,  a 
millionairess,  burdened  with  her  money,  lonely, 
caustic,  with  a  tongue  keen  as  a  sword, 
yearning  for  a  sphere,  but  chained  up  to  the 
rock  of  her  vast  possessions.  Item,  a  type 
writer-maiden  earning  her  own  bread  in  this 
big  city,  because  she  doesn't  think  a  girl  ought 
to  be  a  burden  on  her  parents.  She  quotes 


American  Notes.  55 

Theophile  Gautier,  and  moves  through  'the 
world  manfully,  much  respected,  for  all  her 
twenty  inexperienced  summers.  Item,  a 
woman  from  Cloudland  who  has  no  history  in 
the  past,  but  is  discreetly  of  the  present,  and 
strives  for  the  confidences  of  male  humanity  on 
the  grounds  of  "  sympathy."  (This  is  not  al 
together  a  new  type.)  Item,  a  girl  in  a  "  dive  " 
blessed  with  a  Greek  head  and  eyes  that  seem 
to  speak  all  that  is  best  and  sweetest  in  the 
world.  But  wo  is  me  ! — she  has  no  ideas  in 
this  world  or  the  next,  beyond  the  consumption 
of  beer  (a  commission  on  each  bottle),  and 
protests  that  she  sings  the  songs  allotted  to 
her  nightly  with  no  more  than  the  vaguest 
notion  of  their  meaning. 

f  Sweet  and  comely  are  the  maidens  of  Dev 
onshire  ;  delicate  and  of  gracious  seeming 
those  who  live  in  the  pleasant  places  of  Lon 
don  ;  fascinating  for  all  their  demureness  the 
damsels  of  France  clinging  closely  to  their 
mothers,  and  with  large  eyes  wondering  at  the 
wicked  world ;  excellent  in  her  own  place  and 
to  those  who  understand  her  is  the  Anglo-t 
Indian  "  spin  "  in  her  second  season  ;  but  the 
girls  of  America  are  above  and  beyond  them 
all.  They  are  clever ;  they  can  talk.  Yea,  it 
is  said  that  they  think.  Certainly  they  have 
an  appearance  of  so  doing.  They  are  original, 
and  look  you  between  the  brows  with  un 
abashed  eyes  as  a  sister  might  look  at  her 
brother.  They  are  instructed  in  the  folly  and 


56  American  Notes. 

^vanity  of  the  male  mind,  for  they  have  associ 
ated  with  "  the  boys  "  from  babyhood,  and  can 
discerningly  minister  to  both  vices,  or  pleas 
antly  snub  the  possessor.  They  possess, 
moreover,  a  life  among  themselves,  independ 
ent  of  masculine  associations.  They  have 
societies  and  clubs  and  unlimited  tea-fights 
where  all  the  guests  are  girls.  They  are  self- 
possessed  without  parting  with  any  tenderness 
that  is  their  sex-right ;  they  understand ;  they 
can  take  care  of  themselves  ;  they  are  superbly 
independent.  When  you  ask  them  what 
makes  them  so  charming,  they  say :  "  It  is  be 
cause  we  are  better  educated  than  your  girls 
and — and  we  are  more  sensible  in  regard  to 
men.  We  have  good  times  all  around,  but 
we  aren't  taught  to  regard  every  man  as  a 
possible  husband.  Nor  is  he  expected  to 
marry  the  first  girl  he  calls  on  regularly."  Yes, 
they  have  good  times,  their  freedom  is  large, 
and  they  do  not  abuse  it.  They  can  go  driv 
ing  with  young  men,  and  receive  visits  from 
young  men  to  an  extent  that  would  make  an 
English  mother  wink  with  horror ;  and  neither 
driver  nor  drivee  have  a  thought  beyond  the 
enjoyment  of  a  good  time.  As  certain  also  of 
their  own  poets  have  said  : — 

"  Man  is  fire  and  woman  is  to\v, 
And  the  devil  he  comes  and  begins  to  blow." 

In  America  the  tow  is  soaked  in  a  solution 
that  makes    it   fireproof,    in   absolute   liberty 


American  Notes.  57 

and  large  knowledge  :  consequently  accidents 
do  not  exceed  the  regular  percentage  arranged 
by  the  Devil  for  each  class  and  climate  under 
the  skies.  But  the  freedom  of  the  young  girl 
has  its  drawbacks.  She  is — I  say  it  with  all 
reluctance — irreverent,  from  her  forty-dollarV 
bonnet  to  the  buckles  in  her  eighteen-dollar ! 
shoes.  She  talks  flippantly  to  her  parents 
and  men  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather. 
She  has  a  prescriptive  right  to  the  society  of 
the  Man  who  Arrives.  The  parents  admit  it. 
This  is  sometimes  embarrassing,  especially 
when  you  call  on  a  man  and  his  wife  for  the 
sake  of  information  ;  the  one  being  a  mer 
chant  of  varied  knowledge,  the  other  a  woman 
of  the  world.  In  five  minutes  your  host  has 
vanished.  In  another  five  his  wife  has  fol 
lowed  him,  and  you  are  left  with  a  very  charm 
ing  maiden  doubtless,  but  certainly  not  the 
person  you  came  to  see.  She  chatters  and 
you  grin  ;  but  you  leave  with  the  very  strong 
impression  of  a  wasted  morning.  This  has 
been  my  experience  once  or  twice.  I  have 
even  said  as  pointedly  as  I  dared  to  a  man  : 
"  I  came  to  see  you."  "  You'd  better  see  me^ 
in  my  office,  then.  The  house  belongs  to  my; 
women-folk — to  my  daughter,  that  is  to  say."]  , 
He  spoke  with  truth.  The  American  of( 
wealth  is  owned  by  his  family.  They  exploit 
him  for  bullion,  and  sometimes  it  seems  to  me 
that  his  lot  is  a  lonely  one.  The  women  get 
the  ha'pence;  the  kicks  are  all  his  own. 


58  American  Notes 

'Nothing  is  too  good  for  an  American's 
daughter  (I  speak  here  of  the  moneyed 
classes).  The  girls  take  every  gift  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course.  Yet  they  develop  greatly  when 
a  catastrophe  arrives  and  the  man  of  many 
millions  goes  up  or  goes  down  and  his 
daughters  take  to  stenography  or  typewriting. 
I  have  heard  many  tales  of  heroism  from  the 
lips  of  girls  who  counted  the  principals  among 
their  friends.  The  crash  came ;  Mamie  or 
Hattie  or  Sadie  gave  up  their  maid,  their  car 
riages  and  candy,  and  with  a  No.  2  Reming 
ton  and  a  stout  heart  set  about  earning  their 
daily  bread. 

"  And  did  I  drop  her  from  the  list  of  my 
friends?  No,  sir,"  said  a  scarlet-lipped  vision 
in  white  lace.  "  That  might  happen  to  me 
any_day." 

/it  may  be  this  sense  of  possible  disaster 
in  the  air  that  makes  San  Franciscan  society 
go  with  so  captivating  a  rush  and  whirl. 
Recklessness  is  in  the  air.  I  can't  explain 
where  it  comes  from,  but  there  it  is.  The 
roaring  winds  off  the  Pacific  make  you  drunk 
to  begin  with.  The  agressive  luxury  on  all 
sides  helps  out  the  intoxication,  and  you  spin 
for  ever  "  down  the  ringing  groves  of  change  " 
(there  is  no  small  change,  by  the  way,  west  of 
the  Rockies)  as  long  as  money  lasts.  They 
make  greatly  and  they  spend  lavishly  ;  not  only 
the  rich  but  the  artisans,  who  pay  nearly  five 
pounds  for  a  suit  of  clothes  and  for  other  lux« 


American  Notes  59 

nries  in  proportion.  The  young  men  rejoice 
in  the  days  of  their  youth.  They  gamble, 
yacht,  race,  enjoy  prize-fights  and  cock-fights — 
the  one  openly,  the  other  in  secret — they  estab 
lish  luxurious  clubs;  they  break  themselves 
over  horse-flesh  and — other  things  ;  and  they 
are  instant  in  quarrel.  At  twenty  they  are 
experienced  in  business  ;  embark  in  vast  en 
terprises,  take  partners  as  experienced  as  them 
selves,  and  go  to  pieces  with  as  much  splen 
dor  as  their  neighbors.  Remember  that  the  men 
who  stocked  California  in  the  Fifties  were 
physically,  and  as  far  as  regards  certain  tough  ' 
virtues,  the  pick  of  the  earth.  The  inept  and  the 
weakly  died  en  route  or  went  under  in  the  days 
of  construction.  To  this  nucleus  were  added 
all  the  races  of  the  Continent — French,  Italian, 
German,  and,  of  course,  the  Jew.  The  result 
you  shall  see  in  large-boned,  deep-chested, 
delicate-handed  women,  and  long,  elastic, 
well-built  boys.  It  needs  no  little  golden  badge 
swinging  from  his  watch-chain  to  mark  the 
Native  Son  of  the  Golden  West — the  country- 
bred  of  California.  Him  I  love  because  he  is 
devoid  of  fear,  carries  himself  like  a  man,  and 
has  a  heart  as  big  as  his  boots.  I  fancy,  too, 
he  knows  how  to  enjoy  the  blessings  of  life 
that  his  world  so  abundantly  bestows  upon 
him.  At  least  I  heard  a  little  rat  of  a  creature 
with  hock-bottle  shoulders  explaining  that  a 
man  from  Chicago  could  pull  the  eye-teeth  of 
a  Californian  in  business.  Well,  if  I  lived  in 


60  American  Notes 

Fairyland,  where  cherries  were  as  big  as  plums, 
plums  as  big  as  apples,  and  strawberries  of  no 
account ;  where  the  procession  of  the  fruits 
of  the  seasons  was  like  a  pageant  in  a  Drury 
Lane  pantomime  and  where  the  dry  air  was 
wine,  I  should  let  business  slide  once  in  a  way 
and  kick  up  my  heels  with  my  fellows.  (The" 
tale  of  the  resources  of  California — vegetable 
and  mineral — is  a  fairy  tale.  You  can  read 
it  in  books.  You  would  never  believe  me. 
All  manner  of  nourishing  food  from  sea-fish  to 
beef  may  be  bought  at  the  lowest  prices  ;  and 
the  people  are  well  developed  and  of  a  high 
stomach.  They  demand  ten  shillings  for  tin 
kering  a  jammed  lock  of  a  trunk ;  they  receive 
sixteen  shillings  a  day  for  working  as  carpen 
ters  ;  they  spend  many  sixpences  on  very  bad 
cigars,  and  they  go  mad  over  a  prize-fight 
When  they  disagree,  they  do  so  fatally,  with 
fire-arms  in  their  hands,  and  on  the  public 
streets.  I  was  just  clear  of  Mission  Street 
when  the  trouble  began  between  two  gentle 
men,  one  of  whom  perforated  the  other.  When 
a  policeman,  whose  name  I  do  not  recollect, 
"  fatally  shot  Ed.  Kearney,"  for  attempting  to 
escape  arrest,  I  was  in  the  next  street.  For 
these  things  I  am  thankful.  It  is  enough  to 
travel  with  a  policeman  in  a  tram-car  and  while 
he  arranges  his  coat-tails  as  he  sits  down,  to 
catch  sight  of  a  loaded  revolver.  It  is  enough 
\  to  know  that  fifty  per  cent,  of  the  men  in  the 
public  saloons  carry  pistols  about  them.  The 


American  Notes  61 

Chinaman  waylays  his  adversary  and  methodi 
cally  chops  him  to  pieces  with  his  hatchet. 
Then  the  Press  roar  about  the  brutal  ferocity 
of  the  Pagan.  The  Italian  reconstructs  his 
friend  with  a  long  knife.  The  Press  com 
plains  of  the  waywardness  of  the  alien.  The 
Irishman  and  the  native  Californian  in  their 
hours  of  discontent  use  the  revolver,  not  once, 
but  six  times.  The  Press  records  the  fact,  and 
asks  in  the  next  column  whether  the  world  can 
parallel  the  progress  of  San  Francisco.  The 
American  who  loves  this  country  will  tell  you 
that  this  sort  of  thing  is  confined  to  the  lower 
classes.  Just  at  present  an  ex-judge  who  was 
sent  to  jail  by  another  judge  (upon  my  word, 
I  cannot  tell  whether  these  titles  mean  any 
thing)  is  breathing  red-hot  vengeance  against 
his  enemy.  The  papers  have  interviewed  both 
parties  and  confidently  expect  a  fatal  issue. 

Now  let  me  draw  breath  and  curse  the  negro 
waiter  and  through  him  the  negro  in  service 
generally.  He  has  been  made  a  citizen  with 
a  vote ;  consequently  both  political  parties 
play  with  him.  But  that  is  neither  here  nor 
there.  He  will  commit  in  one  meal  every 
betise  that  a  scullion  fresh  from  the  plow- 
tail  is  capable  of,  and  he  will  continue  to  re 
peat  those  faults.  He  is  as  complete  a  heavy- 
footed,  uncomprehending,  bungle-fisted  fool  as 
any  memsahib  in  the  East  ever  took  into  hei 
establishment.  But  he  is  according  to  law  a 
free  and  independent  citizen — consequently 


4)2  American  Notes 

•above  reproof  or  criticism.  He,  and  he  alone, 
in  this  insane  city  will  wait  at  table  (the 
-Chinaman  doesn't  count).  He  is  untrained, 
inept,  but  he  will  fill  the  place  and  draw  the 
pay.  Now  God  and  his  father's  Kismet  made 
him  intellectually  inferior  to  the  Oriental.  He 
insists  on  pretending  that  he  serves  tables  by 
accident — as  a  sort  of  amusement.  He  wishes 
you  to  understand  this  little  fact.  You  wish 
to  eat  your  meals,  and  if  possible  to  have  them 
properly  served.  He  is  a  big,  black,  vain 
baby  and  a  man  rolled  into  one.  A  colored 
^gentleman  who  insisted  on  getting  me  pie 
when  I  wanted  something  else,  demanded 
information  about  India.  I  gave  him  some 
facts  about  wages.  "  Oh  hell,"  said  he,  cheer- 
iully,  "  that  wouldn't  keep  me  in  cigars  for  a 
month."  Then  he  fawned  on  me  for  a  ten- 
cent  piece.  Later  he  took  it  upon  himself  to 
pity  the  natives  of  India — "  heathen  "  he 
called  them,  this  Woolly  One  whose  race  has 
been  the  butt  of  every  comedy  on  the  Asiatic 
stage  since  the  beginning.  And  I  turned  and 
saw  by  the  head  upon  his  shoulders  that  he 
was  a  Yoruba  man,  if  there  be  any  truth  in 
ethnological  castes.  He  did  his  thinking  in 
English,  but  he  was  a  Yoruba  negro,  and  the 
race  type  had  remained  the  same  throughout 
his  generations.  And  the  room  was  full  of 
other  races — some  that  looked  exactly  like 
iGallas  (but  the  trade  was  never  recruited 
from  that  side  of  Africa),  some  duplicates  of 


American  Notes  63 

Cameroon  heads,  and  some  Kroomen,  if  ever 
Kroomen  wore  evening  dress.  The  American 
does  not  consider  little  matters  of  descent, 
though  by  this  time  he  ought  to  know  all 
about  "  damnable  heredity."  As  a  general 
rule  he  keeps  himself  very  far  from  the  negro 
and  says  unpretty  things  about  him.  There 
are  six  million  negroes  more  or  less  in  the 
States,  and  they  are  increasing.  The  Amer 
icans  once  having  made  them  citizens  cannot 
unmake  them.  He  says,  in  his  newspapers, 
they  ought  to  be  elevated  by  education.  He 
is  trying  this :  but  it  is  like  to  be  a  long  job, 
because  black  blood  is  much  more  adhesive 
than  white,  and  throws  back  with  annoying 
persistence.  When  the  negro  gets  a  religion 
he  returns  directly  as  a  hiving  bee,  to  the 
first  instincts  of  his  people.  Just  now  a  wave 
of  religion  is  sweeping  over  some  of  the 
Southern  States.  Up  to  the  present,  two 
Messiahs  and  one  Daniel  have  appeared ;  and 
several  human  sacrifices  have  been  offered  up 
to  these  incarnations.  The  Daniel  managed 
to  get  three  young  men,  who  he  insisted  were 
Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego,  to  walk 
into  a  blast  furnace;  guaranteeing  non- 
combustion.  They  did  not  return.  I  have 
seen  nothing  of  this  kind,  but  I  have  attended 
a  negro  church.  The  congregation  were 
moved  by  the  spirit  to  groans  and  tears,  and 
one  of  them  danced  up  the  aisle  to  the 
mourners'  bench.  The  motive  may  have  been 


04  American  Notes 

genuine.  The  movements  of  the  shaken  body 
•were  those  of  a  Zanzibar  stick-dance,  such  as 
you  see  at  Aden  on  the  coal  boats ;  and  even 
as  I  watched  the  people,  the  links  that  bound 
them  to  the  white  man  snapped  one  by  one, 
and  I  saw  before  me — the  hubshi  (the  Woolly 
One)  praying  to  the  God  he  did  not  under 
stand.  Those  neatly  dressed  folk  on  the 
benches,  the  gray-headed  elder  by  the  window, 
were  savages — neither  more  nor  less.  What 
will  the  American  do  with  the  negro  ?  The 
South  will  not  consort  with  him.  In  some 
States  miscegenation  is  a  penal  offense.  The 
North  is  every  year  less  and  less  in  need  of 
his  services.  And  he  will  not  disappear.  He 
will  continue  as  a  problem.  His  friends  will 
urge  that  he  is  as  good  as  the  white  man. 
His  enemies  ...  it  is  not  good  to  be  a  negro 
in  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the 
brave. 

But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  San  Fran 
cisco  and  her  merry  maidens,  her  strong, 
swaggering  men,  and  her  wealth  of  gold  and 
pride.  They  bore  me  to  a  banquet  in  honor 
of  a  brave  Lieutenant — Carlin,  of  the  Van- 
dalia — who  stuck  by  his  ship  in  the  great 
cyclone  at  Apia  and  comported  himself  as  an 
officer  should.  On  that  occasion — 'twas  at 
the  Bohemian  Club — I  heard  oratory  with  the 
roundest  of  #'s  ;  and  devoured  a  dinner  the 
memory  of  which  will  descend  with  me  into 
the  hungry  grave.  There  were  about  forty 


American  Notes  65 

speeches  delivered  ;  and  not  one  of  them  was 
average  or  ordinary.  It  was  my  first  intro 
duction  to  the  American  Eagle  screaming  for 
all  it  was  worth.  The  Lieutenant's  heroism 
served  as  a  peg  from  which  those  silver- 
tongued  ones  turned  themselves  loose  and 
kicked.  They  ransacked  the  clouds  of  sunset. 
the  thunderbolts  of  Heaven,  the  deeps  of  Hell, 
and  the  splendors  of  the  Resurrection,  for 
tropes  and  metaphors,  and  hurled  the  result  at 
the  head  of  the  guest  of  the  evening.  Never 
since  the  morning  stars  sang  together  for  joy, 
I  learned,  had  an  amazed  creation  witnessed 
such  superhuman  bravery  as  that  displayed  by 
the  American  navy  in  the  Samoa  cyclone. 
Till  earth  rotted  in  the  phosphorescent  star- 
and-stripe  slime  of  a  decayed  universe  that 
Godlike  gallantry  would  not  be  forgotten.  I 
grieve  that  I  cannot  give  the  exact  words. 
My  attempt  at  reproducing  their  spirit  is  pale 
and  inadequate.  I  sat  bewildered  on  a  corus 
cating  Niagara  oi — blatherumskite.  It  was 
magnificent — it  was  stupendous  ;  and  I  was 
conscious  of  a  wicked  desire  to  hide  my  face 
in  a  napkin  and  grin.  Then,  according  to 
rule,  they  produced  their  dead,  and  across  the 
snowy  tablecloths  dragged  the  corpse  of  every 
man  slain  in  the  Civil  War,  and  hurled  defiance 
at  "  our  natural  enemy  "  (England,  so  please 
you !)  "  with  her  chain  of  fortresses  across  the 
world."  Thereafter  they  glorified  their  nation 
afresh,  from  the  beginning,  in  case  any  detail 

5 


66  American  Notes 

should  have  been  overlooked,  and  that  made 
me  uncomfortable  for  their  sakes.  How  in 
the  world  can  a  white  man,  a  Sahib  of  Our 
blood,  stand  up  and  plaster  praise  on  his  own 
country  ?  He  can  think  as  highly  as  he  likes, 
but  his  open-mouthed  vehemence  of  adoration 
struck  me  almost  as  indelicate.  My  hosts 
talked  for  rather  more  than  three  hours,  and 
at  the  end  seemed  ready  for  three  hours  more. 
But  when  the  Lieutenant — such  a  big,  brave, 
gentle  giant  ! — rose  to  his  feet,  he  delivered 
what  seemed  to  me  as  the  speech  of  the  even 
ing.  I  remember  nearly  the  whole  of  it,  and 
it  ran  something  in  this  way  :  "  Gentlemen- 
it's  very  good  of  you  to  give  me  ,  this  dinner 
and  to  tell  me  all  these  pretty  things,  but 
what  I  want  you  to  understand — the  fact  is — •> 
what  we  want  and  what  we  ought  to  get  at 
once  is  a  navy— more  ships — lots  of  'em — " 
Then  we  howled  the  top  of  the  roof  off,  and  I, 
for  one,  fell  in  love  with  Carlin  on  the  spot. 
Wallah  I  He  was  a  man. 

The  Prince  among  merchants  bade  me  take 
no  heed  to  the  warlike  sentiments  of  some  of 
the  old  Generals.  "  The  sky-rockets  are 
thrown  in  for  effect,"  quoth  he,  "  and  when 
ever  we  get  on  our  hind  legs  we  always  ex 
press  a  desire  to  chaw  up  England.  It's  a 
sort  of  family  affair." 

And  indeed,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it, 
there  is  no  other  country  for  the  American 
public  speaker  to  trample  upon. 


American  Notes  67 

France  has  Germany  ;  we  have  Russia ;  tot 
Italy,  Austria  is  provided  ;  and  the  humblest 
Pathan  possesses  an  ancestral  enemy.  Only 
America  stands  out  of  the  racket ;  and  there 
fore,  to  be  in  fashion,  makes  a  sand-bag  of 
the  mother-country,  and  bangs  her  when  oc 
casion  requires.  "  The  chain  of  fortresses  " 
man,  a  fascinating  talker,  explained  to  me 
after  the  affair  that  he  was  compelled  to  blow 
off  steam.  Everybody  expected  it.  When  we 
had  chanted  "  The  Star-Spangled  Banner  "  not 
more  than  eight  times,  we  adjourned.  America 
is  a  very  great  country,  but  it  is  not  yet  Heaven 
with  electric  lights  and  plush  fittings,  as  the 
speakers  professed  to  believe.  My  listening 
mind  went  back  to  the  politicians  in  the  saloon 
who  wasted  no  time  in  talking  about  freedom, 
but  quietly  made  arrangements  to  impose  their 
will  on  the  citizens.  "  The  Judge  is  a  great 
man,  but  give  thy  presents  to  the  Clerk,"  as 
the  proverb  saith. 

And  what  more  remains  to  tell  ?  I  cannot 
write  connectedly,  because  I  am  in  love  with 
all  those  girls  aforesaid  and  some  others  who 
do  not  appear  in  the  invoice.  The  type-writer 
girl  is  an  institution  of  which  the  comic  papers 
make  much  capital,  but  she  is  vastly  conven 
ient.  She  and  a  companion  rent  a  room  in  a 
business  quarter,  and  copy  manuscript  at  the 
rate  of  six  annas  a  page.  Only  a  woman  can 
manage  a  type-writing  machine,  because  she 
has  served  apprenticeship  to  the  sewing* 


68  American  Notes 

machine.  She  can  earn  as  much  as  a  hundred 
dollars  a  month,  and  professes  to  regard  this 
form  of  bread-winning  as  her  natural  destiny. 
But  oh  how  she  hates  it  in  her  heart  of  hearts  1 
When  I  had  got  over  the  surprise  of  doing 
business  and  trying  to  give  orders  to  a  young 
woman  of  coldly  clerkly  aspect,  intrenched  be 
hind  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  I  made  inquiries 
concerning  the  pleasures  of  this  independ 
ence.  They  liked  it — indeed,  they  did. 
"Twas  the  natural  fate  of  almost  all  girls, — 
the  recognized  custom  in  America, — and 
I  was  a  barbarian  not  to  see  it  in  that 
light 

"  Well,  and  after  ?  "  said  I.  "  What  hap- 
pens  ?  " 

"  We  work  for  our  bread." 

"  And  then  what  do  you  expect  ?  n 

"  Then  we  shall  work  for  our  bread.*' 

"  Till  you  die  ?  " 

"  Ye-es — unless " 

"  Unless  what  ?  A  man  works  till  he 
dies." 

"  So  shall  we."  This  without  enthusiasm 
— "  I  suppose." 

Said  the  partner  in  the  firm  audaciously  ? 
"  Sometimes  we  marry  our  employers — at  least 
that's  what  the  newspapers  say."  The  hand 
banged  on  half  a  dozen  of  the  keys  of  the 
machine  at  once.  "  Yes,  I  don't  care.  I 
hate  it — I  hate  it — I  hate  it,  and  you  needn't 
look  so !  " 


American  Notes  69 

The  senior  partner  was  regarding  the  rebel 
with  grave-eyed  reproach. 

"  I  thought  you  did,"  said  I.  "  I  don't  sup 
pose  American  girls  are  much  different  from 
English  ones  in  instinct." 

"  Isn't  it  The'ophile  Gautier  who  says  that 
the  only  differences  between  country  and 
country  lie  in  the  slang  and  the  uniform  of  the 
police  ?  " 

Now  in  the  name  of  all  the  Gods  at  once, 
what  is  one  to  say  to  a  young  lady  (who  in 
England  would  be  a  Person)  who  earns  her 
own  bread,  and  very  naturally  hates  the  em 
ploy,  and  slings  out-of-the-way  quotations  at 
your  head  ?  That  one  falls  in  love  with  her 
goes  without  saying ;  but  that  is  not  enough. 

A  mission  should  be  established. 


70  American  Notes 


v. 


*  I  walked  in  the  lonesome  even, 

And  who  so  sad  as  I, 
As  I  saw  the  young  men  and  maidens 
Merrily  passing  by  ?  " 

v  /  SAN  FRANCISCO  has  only  one  drawback. 
'Tis  hard  to  leave.  When  like  the  pious  Hans 
Breitmann  I  "  cut  that  city  by  the  sea  "  it  was 
with  regrets  for  the  pleasant  places  left  be 
hind,  for  the  men  who  were  so  clever,  and  the 
women  who  were  so  witty,  for  the  "  dives," 
the  beer-halls,  the  bucket-shops,  and  the  poker- 
hells  where  humanity  was  going  to  the  Devil 
with  shouting  and  laughter  and  song  and  the 
rattle  of  dice-boxes.  I  would  fain  have  stayed, 
but  I  feared  that  an  evil  end  would  come  to 
me  when  my  money  was  all  spent  and  I  de 
scended  to  the  street  corner.  A  voice  inside 
me  said  :  "Get  out  of  this.  Go  north.  Strike 
for  Victoria  and  Vancouver.  Bask  for  a  day 
under  the  shadow  of  the  old  flag."  So  I  set 
forth  from  San  Francisco  to  Portland  in 
Oregon,  and  that  was  a  railroad  run  of  thirty- 
six  hours. 

The  Oakland  railway  terminus,  whence  all 
the  main  lines  start,  does  not  own  anything 
approaching  to  a  platform.  A  yard  with  a 
dozen  or  more  tracks  is  roughly  asphalted, 


American  Notes  71 

and  the  traveler  laden  with  handbags  skips 
merrily  across  the  metals  in  search  of  his  own 
particular  train.  The  bells  of  half  a  dozen 
shunting  engines  are  tolling  suggestively  in 
his  ears.  If  he  is  run  down,  so  much  the 
worse  for  him.  "  When  the  bell  rings,  look 
out  for  the  locomotive."  Long  use  has  made 
the  nation  familiar  and  even  contemptuous  to 
wards  trains  to  an  extent  which  God  never 
intended.  Women  who  in  England  would 
gather  up  their  skirts  and  scud  timorously 
over  a  level  crossing  in  the  country,  here  talk 
dress  and  babies  under  the  very  nose  of  the 
cow-catcher,  and  little  children  dally  with  the 
moving  car  in  a  manner  horrible  to  behold. 
We  pulled  out  at  the  wholly  insignificant  speed 
of  twenty-five  miles  an  hour  through  the  streets 
of  a  suburb  of  fifty  thousand,  and  in  our  prog 
ress  among  the  carts  and  the  children  and 
shop  fronts  slew  nobody  ;  at  which  I  was  not 
a  little  disappointed. 

When  the  negro  porter  bedded  me  up  for 
the  night  and  I  had  solved  the  problem  of 
undressing  while  lying  down, — I  was  much 
cheered  by  the  thought  that  if  anything  hap 
pened  I  should  have  to  stay  where  I  was  and 
wait  till  the  kerosene  lamps  set  the  overturned 
car  alight  and  burned  me  to  death.  It  is 
easier  to  get  out  of  a  full  theater  than  to 
leave  a  Pullman  in  haste. 

%By  the  time  I  had  discovered  that  a  profu 
sion  of  nickel-plating,  plush,  and  damask  doe* 


72  American  Notes 

not  compensate  for  closeness  and  dust,  the 
train  ran  into  the  daylight  on  the  banks  of 
the  Sacramento  River.  A  few  windows  were 
gingerly  opened  after  the  bunks  had  been  re 
converted  into  seats,  but  that  long  coffin-car 
was  by  no  means  ventilated,  and  we  were  a 
gummy,  grimy  crew  who  sat  there.  At  six  in 
the  morning  the  heat  was  distinctly  unpleas 
ant,  but  seeing  with  the  eye  of  the  flesh 
that  I  was  in  Bret  Harte's  own  country,  I 
rejoiced.  There  were  the  pines  and  madrone- 
clad  hills  his  miners  lived  and  fought  among ; 
there  was  the  heated  red  earth  that  showed 
whence  the  gold  had  been  washed  ;  the  dry 
gulch,  the  red,  dusty  road  where  Hamblin 
was  used  to  stop  the  stage  in  the  intervals  of 
his  elegant  leisure  and  superior  card-play; 
there  was  the  timber  felled  and  sweating  resin 
in  the  sunshine ;  and,  above  all,  there  was 
the  quivering  pungent  heat  that  Bret  Harte 
drives  into  your  dull  brain  with  the  magic  of 
his  pen.  When  we  stopped  at  a  collection  of 
packing-cases  dignified  by  the  name  of  a 
town,  my  felicity  was  complete.  The  name 
of  the  place  was  something  offensive, — Am- 
berville  or  Jacksonburgh, — but  it  owned  a 
cast-iron  fountain  worthy  of  a  town  of  thirty 
thousand.  Next  to  the  fountain  was  a 
"  hotel,"  at  least  seventeen  feet  high  including 
the  chimney,  and  next  to  the  hotel  was  the 
forest — the  pine,  the  oak,  and  the  untra"m- 
melled  undergrowth  of  the  hillside.  A  cinna- 


American  Notes  73 

mon-bear  cub — Baby  Sylvester  in  the  very 
fur — was  tied  to  the  stump  of  a  tree  opposite 
the  fountain  ;  a  pack-mule  dozed  in  the  dust- 
haze,  a  red-shirted  miner  in  a  slouch  hat 
supported  the  hotel,  a  blue-shirted  miner 
swung  round  the  corner,  and  the  two  went 
indoors  for  a  drink.  A  girl  came  out  of  the 
only  other  house  but  one,  and  shading  her 
eyes  with  a  brown  hand  stared  at  the  panting 
train.  She  didn't  recognize  me,  but  I  knew 
her — had  known  her  for  years.  She  was 
M'liss.  She  never  married  the  schoolmaster, 
after  all,  but  stayed,  always  young  and  always 
fair,  among  the  pines.  I  knew  Red-Shirt 
too.  He  was  one  of  the  bearded  men  who 
stood  back  when  Tennessee  claimed  his 
partner  from  the  hands  of  the  Law.  The 
Sacramento  River,  a  few  yards  away,  shouted 
that  all  these  things  were  true.  The  train 
went  on  while  Baby  Sylvester  stood  on  his 
downy  head,  and  M'liss  swung  her  sun-bonnet 
by  the  strings. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  said  a  lawyer  who 
was  traveling  with  me.  "  It's  a  new  world 
to  you ;  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  No.  It's  quite  familiar.  I  was  never 
out  of  England  ;  it's  as  if  I  saw  it  all." 

Quick  as  light  came  the  answer  :  " '  Yes, 
they  lived  once  thus  at  Venice  when  the 
miners  were  the  kings.'  " 

I  loved  that  lawyer  on  the  spot.  We  drank 
to  Bret  Harte  who,  you  remember,  "  claimed 


74  American  Notes 

California,  but  California  never  claimed  him, 
He's  turned  English." 

Lying  back  in  state,  I  waited  for  the  flying 
miles  to  turn  over  the  pages  of  the  book  I 
knew.  They  brought  me  all  I  desired — from 
Man  of  no  Account  sitting  on  a  stump  and 
playing  with  a  dog,  to  "  that  most  sarcastic 
man,  the  quiet  Mister  Brown."  He  boarded 
the  train  from  out  of  the  woods,  and  there 
was  venom  and  sulphur  on  his  tongue.  He 
had  just  lost  a  lawsuit.  Only  Yuba  Bill 
failed  to  appear.  The  train  had  taken  his 
employment  from  him.  A  nameless  ruffian 
backed  me  into  a  corner  and  began  telling  me 
about  the  resources  of  the  country,  and  what 
it  would  eventually  become.  All  I  remember 
of  his  lecture  was  that  you  could  catch  trout 
in  the  Sacramento  River — the  stream  that  we 
followed  so  faithfully. 

Then  rose  a  tough  and  wiry  old  man  with 
grizzled  hair  and  made  inquiries  about  the 
trout.  To  him  was  added  the  secretary  of  a 
life-insurance  company.  I  fancy  he  was 
traveling  to  rake  in  the  dead  that  the  train 
killed.  But  he,  too,  was  a  fisherman,  and  the 
two  turned  to  meward.  The  frankness  of  a 
X  Westerner  is  delightful.  They  tell  me  that  in 
the  Eastern  States  I  shall  meet  another  type 
of  man  and  a  more  reserved.  The  Califor- 
nian  always  speaks  of  the  man  from  the  New 
England  States  as  a  different  breed.  It  is 
our  Punjab  and  Madras  over  again,  but  more 


American  Notes  75 

so.  The  old  man  was  on  a  holiday  in  search 
oi  fish.  When  he  discovered  a  brother-loafer 
he  proposed  a  confederation  of  rods.  Quoth 
the  insurance-agent,  "I'm  not  staying  any 
time  in  Portland,  but  I  will  introduce  you  to 
a  man  there  who'll  tell  you  about  fishing." 
The  two  told  strange  tales  as  we  slid  through 
the  forests  and  saw  afar  off  the  snowy  head 
of  a  great  mountain.  There  were  vineyards, 
fruit  orchards,  and  wheat  fields  where  the 
land  opened  out,  and  every  ten  miles  or  so, 
twenty  or  thirty  wooden  houses  and  at  least 
three  churches.  A  large  town  would  have  a 
population  of  two  thousand  and  an  infinite 
belief  in  its  own  capacities.  Sometimes  a 
flaring  advertisement  flanked  the  line,  calling 
for  men  to  settle  down,  take  up  the  ground, 
and  make  their  home  there.  At  a  big  town 
we  could  pick  up  the  local  newspaper,  narrow 
as  the  cutting  edge  of  a  chisel  and  twice  as 
keen — a  journal  filled  with  the  prices  of 
stock,  notices  of  improved  reaping  and  bind 
ing  machines,  movements  of  eminent  citizens 
— "  whose  fame  beyond  their  own  abode  ex 
tends — for  miles  along  the  Harlem  road." 
There  was  not  much  grace  about  these 
papers,  but  all  breathed  the  same  need  for 
good  men,  steady  men  who  would  plow, 
and  till,  and  build  schools  for  their  children, 
and  make  a  township  in  the  hills.  Once  only 
I  found  a  sharp  change  in  the  note  and  a 
very  pathetic  one.  I  think  it  was  a  young 


76  American  Notes 

soul  in  trouble  who  was  writing  poetry.  The 
editor  had  jammed  the  verses  between  the 
flamboyant  advertisement  of  a  real-estate 
agent — a  man  who  sells  you  land  and  lies 
about  it — and  that  of  a  Jew  tailor  who  dis 
posed  of  "  nobby "  suits  at  "  cut-throat 
prices."  Here  are  two  verses  ;  I  think  they 
tell  their  own  story : — 

"  God  made  the  pine  with  its  root  in  the  earth, 

Its  top  in  the  sky  ; 

They  have  burned  the  pine  to  increase  the  worth 
Of  the  wheat  and  the  silver  rye. 

**  Go  weigh  the  cost  of  the  soul  of  the  pine 

Cut  off  from  the  sky  ; 

And  the  price  of  the  wheat  that  grows  so  fine 
And  the  worth  of  the  silver  rye  I  " 

The  thin-lipped,  keen-eyed  men  who  boarded 
the  train  would  not  read  that  poetry,  or,  if 
they  did,  would  not  understand.  Heaven 
guard  that  poor  pine  in  the  desert  and  keep 
1  its  top  in  the  sky  !  " 

When  the  train  took  to  itself  an  extra 
engine  and  began  to  breathe  heavily,  some 
one  said  that  we  were  ascending  the  Siskiyou 
Mountains.  We  had  been  climbing  steadily 
from  San  Francisco,  and  at  last  won  to  over 
four  thousand  feet  above  sea-level,  always 
running  through  forest.  Then,  naturally 
enough,  we  came  down,  but  we  dropped  two 
thousand  two  hundred  feet  in  about  thirteen 
miles.  It  was  not  so  much  the  grinding  of 
the  brakes  along  the  train,  or  the  sight  of 


American  Notes  77 

three  curves  of  track  apparently  miles  below 
us,  or  even  the  vision  of  a  goods-train  appar 
ently  just  under  our  wheels,  or  even  the  tun 
nels,  that  made  me  reflect ;  it  was  the  trestles 
over  which  we  crawled, — trestles  something 
over  a  hundred  feet  high  and  looking  like  » 
collection  of  match-sticks. 

"  I  guess  our  timber  is  as  much  a  curse  as 
a  blessing,"  said  the  old  man  from  Southern 
California.  "  These  trestles  last  very  well  for 
five  or  six  years  ;  then  they  get  out  of  repair, 
and  a  train  goes  through  'em,  or  else  a  forest 
fire  burns  'em  up." 

This  was  said  in  the  middle  of  a  groaning, 
shivering  trestle.  An-  occasional  plate-layer 
took  a  look  at  us  as  we  went  down,  but  that 
railway  didn't  waste  men  on  inspection  duty. 
Very  often  there  were  cattle  on  the  track, 
against  which  the  engine  used  a  diabolical 
form  of  whistling.  The  old  man  had  been  a 
driver  in  his  youth,  and  beguiled  the  way  with 
cheery  anecdotes  of  what  might  be  expected  if 
we  fouled  a  young  calf. 

"  You  see,  they  get  their  legs  under  the 
cow-catcher,  and  that'll  put  an  engine  off  the 
line.  I  remember  when  a  hog  wrecked  an 
excursion-train  and  killed  sixty  people.  'Guess 
the  engineer  will  look  out,  though." 

There  is  considerably  too  much  guessing 
about  this  large  nation.  As  one  of  them  put 
it  rather  forcibly :  "  We  guess  a  trestle  will 
stand  forever,  and  we  guess  that  we  can 


78  American  Notes 

patch  up  a  washout  on  the  track,  and  we 
guess  the  road's  clear,  and  sometimes  we 
guess  ourselves  into  the  deepot,  and  some 
times  we  guess  ourselves  into  Hell." 

***** 

The  descent  brought  us  far  into  Oregon 
and  a  timber  and  wheat  country.  We  drove 
through  wheat  and  pine  in  alternate  slices,  but 
pine  chiefly,  till  we  reached  Portland,  which 
is  a  city  of  fifty  thousand,  possessing  the 
electric  light  of  course,  equally,  of  course, 
devoid  of  pavements,  and  a  port  of  entry 
about  a  hundred  miles  from  the  sea  at  which 
big  steamers  can  load.  It  is  a  poor  city  that 
cannot  say  it  has  no  equal  on  the  Pacific 
coast.  Portland  shouts  this  to  the  pines 
which  run  down  from  a  thousand-foot  ridge 
clear  up  to  the  city.  You  may  sit  in  a  be 
dizened  bar-room  furnished  with  telephone 
and  clicker,  and  in  half  an  hour  be  in  the 
woods. 

Portland  produces  lumber  and  jig-saw  fit 
tings  for  houses,  and  beer  and  buggies,  and 
bricks  and  biscuit  ;  and,  in  case  you  should 
miss  the  fact,  there  are  glorified  views  of  the 
town  hung  up  in  public  places  with  the  value 
of  the  products  set  down  in  dollars.  All  this 
is  excellent  and  exactly  suitable  to  the  opening 
of  a  new  country  ;  but  when  a  man  tells  you 
it  is  civilization,  you  object.  The  first  thing 
that  the  civilized  man  learns  to  do  is  to  keep 
the  dollars  in  the  background,  because  they 


American  Notes  79 

are  only  the  oil  of  the  machine  that  makes  life 
go  smoothly. 

Portland  is  so  busy  that  it  can't  attend  to  its 
own  sewage  or  paving,  and  the  four-story 
brick  blocks  front  cobble-stones  and  plank 
sidewalks  and  other  things  much  worse.  I 
saw  a  foundation  being  dug  out.  The  sewage 
of  perhaps  twenty  years  ago,  had  thoroughly 
soaked  into  the  soil,  and  there  was  a  familiar 
and  Oriental  look  about  the  compost  that  flew 
up  with  each  shovel-load.  Yet  the  local 
papers,  as  was  just  and  proper,  swore  there 
was  no  place  like  Portland,  Oregon,  U.  S.  A., 
chronicled  the  performances  of  Oregonians, 
"  claimed  "  prominent  citizens  elsewhere  as 
Oregonians,  and  fought  tooth  and  nail  for 
dock,  rail,  and  wharfage  projects.  And  you 
could  find  men  who  had  thrown  in  their  lives 
with  the  city,  who  were  bound  up  in  it,  and 
worked  their  life  out  for  what  they  conceived 
to  be  its  material  prosperity.  Pity  it  is  to 
record  that  in  this  strenuous,  laboring  town 
there  had  been,  a  week  before,  a  shooting-case. 
One  well-known  man  had  shot  another  on  the 
street,  and  was  now  pleading  self-defense, 
because  the  other  man  had,  or  the  murderer 
thought  he  had,  a  pistol  about  him.  Not 
content  with  shooting  him  dead,  he  squibbed 
off  his  revolver  into  him  as  he  lay.  I  read 
the  pleadings,  and  they  made  rne  ill.  So  far 
as  I  could  judge,  if  the  dead  man's  body  had 
been  found  with  a  pistol  on  it,  the  shooter 


8o  American  Notes 

would  have  gone  free.  Apart  from  the  mere 
murder,  cowardly  enough  in  itself,  there  was  a 
refinement  of  cowardice  in  the  plea.  Here  in 
this  civilized  city  the  surviving  brute  was  afraid 
he  would  be  shot — fancied  he  saw  the  other 
man  make  a  motion  to  his  hip-pocket,  and  so 
on.  Eventually  the  jury  disagreed.  And  the 
degrading  thing  was  that  the  trial  was  reported 
by  men  who  evidently  understood  all  about 
the  pistol,  was  tried  before  a  jury  who  were 
versed  in  the  etiquette  of  the  hip-pocket,  and 
was  discussed  on  the  streets  by  men  equally 
initiate. 

But  let  us  return  to  more  cheerful  things. 
The  insurance-agent  introduced  us  as  friends 
to  a  real-estate  man,  who  promptly  bade  us  go 
up  the  Columbia  River  for  a  day  while  he 
made  inquiries  about  fishing.  There  was  no 
overwhelming  formality.  The  old  man  was 
addressed  as  "  California,"  I  answered  indif 
ferently  to  "  England  "  or  "  Johnny  Bull,"  and 
the  real-estate  man  was  "  Portland."  This 
was  a  lofty  and  spacious  form  of  address. 

So  California  and  I  took  a  steamboat,  and 
upon  a  sumptuous  blue  and  gold  morning 
steered  up  the  Willamette  River,  on  which 
Portland  stands,  into  the  great  Columbia — the 
river  that  brings  the  salmon  that  goes  into  the 
tin  that  is  emptied  into  the  dish  when  the  ex 
tra  guest  arrives  in  India.  California  intro 
duced  me  to  the  boat  and  the  scenery,  showed 
me  the  "  texas,"  the  difference  between  a  "  tow« 


American  Notes  81 

head  "  and  a  "  sawyer,"  and  the  precise  nature 
of  a  "  slue."  All  I  remember  is  a  delightful 
feeling  that  Mark  Twain's  Huckleberry  Finn 
and  Mississippi  Pilot  were  quite  true,  and  that 
I  could  almost  recognize  the  very  reaches 
down  which  Huck  and  Jim  had  drifted.  We 
were  on  the  border  line  between  Oregon  State 
and  Washington  Territory,  but  that  didn*t 
matter.  The  Columbia  was  the  Mississippi  so 
far  as  I  was  concerned.  We  ran  along  the 
sides  of  wooded  islands  whose  banks  were 
caving  in  with  perpetual  smashes,  and  we 
skipped  from  one  side  to  another  of  the  mile- 
wide  stream  in  search  of  a  channel,  exactly 
like  a  Mississippi  steamer,  and  when  we 
wanted  to  pick  up  or  set  down  a  passenger  we 
chose  a  soft  and  safe  place  on  the  shore  and 
ran  our  very  snub  nose  against  it.  California 
spoke  to  each  new  passenger  as  he  came 
aboard  and  told  me  the  man's  birthplace.  A 
long-haired  tender  of  kine  crashed  out  of  the 
underwood,  waved  his  hat,  and  was  taken 
aboard  forthwith.  "  South  Carolina,"  said 
California,  almost  without  looking  at  him. 
"  When  he  talks  you  will  hear  a  softer  dialect 
than  mine."  And  it  befell  as  he  said  :  where 
at  I  marveled,  and  California  chuckled. 
Every  island  in  the  river  carried  fields  of  rich 
wheat,  orchards,  and  a  white,  wooden-house ; 
or  else,  if  the  pines  grew  very  thickly,  a  saw 
mill,  the  tremulous  whine  of  whose  saws  flick 
ered  across  the  water  like  the  drone  of  a  tired 
6 


82  American  Notes 

bee.  From  remarks  he  let  fall  I  gathered  that 
California  owned  timber  ships  and  dealt  in 
lumber,  had  ranches  too,  a  partner,  and  every 
thing  handsome  about  him ;  in  addition  to  a 
checkered  career  of  some  thirty-five  years. 
But  he  looked  almost  as  disreputable  a  loafer 
as  I. 

"  Say,  young  feller,  we're  going  to  see 
scenery  now.  You  shout  and  sing,"  said 
California,  when  the  bland  wooded  islands 
gave  place  to  bolder  outlines,  and  the  steamer 
ran  herself  into  a  hornet's  nest  of  black-fanged 
rocks  not  a  foot  below  the  boiling  broken 
water.  We  were  trying  to  get  up  a  slue,  or 
back  channel,  by  a  short  cut,  and  the  stern- 
wheel  never  spun  twice  in  the  same  direction. 
Then  we  hit  a  floating  log  with  a  jar  that  ran 
through  our  system,  and  then,  white-bellied, 
open-gilled,  spun  by  a  dead  salmon — a  lordly 
twenty-pound  Chinook  salmon  who  had  per 
ished  in  his  pride.  "  You'll  see  the  salmon- 
wheels  'fore  long,"  said  a  man  who  lived  "  way 
back  on  the  Washoogle,"  and  whose  hat  was 
spangled  with  trout-flies.  "  Those  Chinook 
salmon  never  rise  to  the  fly.  The  canneries 
take  them  by  the  wheel."  At  the  next  bend 
we  sighted  a  wheel — an  infernal  arrangement 
of  wire-gauze  compartments  worked  by  the 
current  and  moved  out  from  a  barge  in  shore 
to  scoop  up  the  salmon  as  he  races  op  the 
river.  California  swore  long  and  fluently  at 
the  sight,  and  the  more  fluently  when  he  was 


American  Notes  8*3 

told  of  the  weight  of  a  good  night's  catch- 
some  thousands  of  pounds.  Think  of  the 
black  and  bloody  murder  of  it !  But  you  out 
yonder  insist  in  buying  tinned  salmon,  and 
the  canneries  cannot  live  by  letting  down  lines. 
About  this  time  California  was  struck  with 
madness.  I  found  him  dancing  on  the  fore- 
deck  shouting,  "  Isn't  she  a  daisy  ?  Isn't  she 
a  darling  ?  "  He  had  found  a  waterfall — a 
blown  thread  of  white  vapor  that  broke  from 
the  crest  of  a  hill — a  waterfall  eight  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  high  whose  voice  was  even 
louder  than  the  voice  of  the  river.  "  Bridal 
Veil,"  jerked  out  the  purser.  "  D — n  that 
purser  and  the  people  who  christened  her ! 
Why  didn't  they  call  her  Mechlin  lace  Falls  at 
fifty  dollars  a  yard  while  they  were  at  it  ?  " 
said  California.  And  I  agreed  with  him. 
There  are  many  "  bridal  veil "  falls  in  this 
country,  but  few,  men  say,  lovelier  than  those 
that  come  down  to  the  Columbia  River. 
Then  the  scenery  began — poured  forth  with 
the  reckless  profusion  of  Nature,  who  when 
she  wants  to  be  amiable  succeeds  only  in  be 
ing  oppressively  magnificent.  The  river  was 
penned  between  gigantic  stone  walls  crowned 
with  the  ruined  bastions  of  Oriental  palaces. 
The  stretch  of  green  water  widened  and  was 
guarded  by  pine-clad  hills  three  thousand  feet 
high.  A  wicked  devil's  thumb  nail  of  rock 
shot  up  a  hundred  feet  in  midstream.  A 
sand-bar  of  blinding  white  sand  gave  prom» 


84  American  Notes 

ise  of  flat  country  that  the  next  bend  denied ; 
for,  lo  !  we  were  running  under  a  triple  tier 
of  fortifications,  lava-topped,  pine-clothed,  and 
terrible.  Behind  them  the  white  dome  of 
Mount  Hood  ran  fourteen  thousand  feet  into 
the  blue,  and  at  their  feet  the  river  threshed 
^among  a  belt  of  cottonwood  trees.  There  I 
sat  down  and  looked  at  California  half  out  of 
the  boat  in  his  anxiety  to  see  both  sides  of  the 
river  at  once.  He  had  seen  my  note-book, 
and  it  offended  him.  "  Young  feller,  let  her 
go — and  you  shut  your  head.  It's  not  you 
nor  anybody  like  you  can  put  this  down. 
Black,  the  novelist,  he  could.  He  can  de 
scribe  salmon-fishing,  he  can."  And  he  glared 
at  me  as  though  he  expected  me  to  go  and 
do  likewise. 

"  I  can't.     I  know  it,"  I  said  humbly. 

"  Then  thank  God  that  you  came  along  this 
way." 

We  reached  a  little  railway,  on  an  island, 
which  was  to  convey  us  to  a  second  steamer, 
because,  as  the  purser  explained,  the  river 
was  a  "  trifle  broken."  We  had  a  six-mile 
run,  sitting  m  the  sunshine  on  a  dummy- 
wagon,  whirled  just  along  the  edge  of  the 
river-bluffs.  Sometimes  we  dived  into  the 
fragrant  pine  woods,  ablaze  with  flowers ;  but 
we  generally  watched  the  river  now  narrowed 
into  a  turbulent  millrace.  Just  where  the 
whole  body  of  water  broke  in  riot  over  a 
series  of  cascades,  the  United  States  Govern- 


American  Notes  85 

ment  had  chosen  to  build  a  lock  for  steamers, 
and  the  stream  was  one  boiling,  spouting 
mob  of  water.  A  log  shot  down  the  race, 
struck  on  a  rock,  split  from  end  to  end,  and 
rolled  over  in  white  foam.  I  shuddered  be 
cause  my  toes  were  not  more  than  sixty  feet 
above  the  log,  and  I  feared  that  a  stray 
splinter  might  have  found  me.  But  the  train 
ran  into  the  river  on  a  sort  of  floating  trestle, 
and  I  was  upon  another  steamer  ere  I  fully 
understood  why.  The  cascades  were  not  two 
hundred  yards  below  us,  and  when  we  cast 
off  to  go  upstream,  the  rush  of  the  river,  ere 
the  wheel  struck  the  water,  dragged  us  as 
though  we  had  been  towed.  Then  the  country- 
opened  out,  and  California  mourned  for  his 
lost  bluffs  and  crags,  till  we  struck  a  rock 
wall  four  hundred  feet  high,  crowned  by  the 
gigantic  figure  of  a  man  watching  us.  On  a 
rocky  island  we  saw  the  white  tomb  of  an 
old-time  settler  who  had  made  his  money  in 
San  Francisco,  but  who  had  chosen  to  be 
buried  in  an  Indian  burying-ground.  A  de 
cayed  wooden  "  wickyup,"  where  the  bones  of 
the  Indian  dead  are  laid,  almost  touched  the 
tomb.  The  river  ran  into  a  canal  of  basaltic 
rock,  painted  in  yellow,  vermilion,  and  green 
by  Indians  and,  by  inferior  brutes,  adorned 
with  advertisements  of  "  bile  beans."  We 
had  reached  The  Dalles — the  center  of  a 
great  sheep  and  wool  district,  and  the  head 
of  navigation. 


86  American  Notes 

When  an  American  arrives  at  a  new  town 
it  is  his  bounden  duty  to  "  take  it  in."  Cali 
fornia  swung  his  coat  over  his  shoulder  with 
the  gesture  of  a  man  used  to  long  tramps,  and 
together,  at  eight  in  the  evening,  we  explored 
The  Dalles.  The  sun  had  not  yet  set,  and  it 
would  be  light  for  at  least  another  hour.  All 
the  inhabitants  seemed  to  own  a  little  villa  and 
one  church  apiece.  The  young  men  were  out 
walking  with  the  young  maidens,  the  old  folks 
were  sitting  on  the  front  steps, — not  the  ones 
that  led  to  the  religiously  shuttered  best  draw 
ing-room,  but  the  side-front  steps, — and  the 
husbands  and  wives  were  tying  back  pear  trees 
or  gathering  cherries.  A  scent  of  hay  reached 
me,  and  in  the  stillness  we  could  hear  the 
cattle  bells  as  the  cows  came  home  across  the 
lava-sprinkled  fields.  California  swung  down 
the  wooden  pavements,  audibly  criticising  the 
housewives'  hollyhocks  and  the  more  perfect 
ways  of  pear-grafting,  and,  as  the  young  men 
and  maidens  passed,  giving  quaint  stories  of 
his  youth.  I  felt  that  I  knew  all  the  people 
aforetime,  I  was  so  interested  in  them  and 
their  life.  A  woman  hung  over  a  gate  talk 
ing  to  another  woman,  and  as  I  passed  I 
heard  her  say,  "  skirts,"  and  again,  "skirts," 
and  "  I'll  send  you  over  the  pattern  "  ;  and  I 
knew  they  were  talking  dress.  We  stumbled 
upon  a  young  couple  saying  good-by  in  the 
twilight,  and  "  When  shall  I  see  you  again  ?  " 
quoth  he ;  and  I  understood  that  to  the  doubt- 


American  Notes  87 

ing  heart  the  tiny  little  town  we  paraded  in 
twenty  minutes  might  be  as  large  as  all  Lon 
don  and  as  impassable  as  an  armed  camp.  I 
gave  them  both  my  blessing,  because  "  When 
shall  I  see  you  again  ?  "  is  a  question  that 
lies  very  near  to  hearts  of  all  the  world.  The 
last  garden  gate  shut  with  a  click  that  traveled 
far  down  the  street,  and  the  lights  of  the 
comfortable  families  began  to  shine  in  the 
confidingly  uncurtained  windows. 

"  Say,  Johnny  Bull,  doesn't  all  this  make 
you  feel  lonesome  ?  "  said  California.  "  Have 
you  got  any  folks  at  home  ?  SoVe  I — a  wife 
and  five  children — and  I'm  only  on  a  holiday." 

"  And  I'm  only  on  a  holiday,"  I  said,  and 
we  went  back  to  the  Spittoon-wood  Hotel. 
Alas !  for  the  peace  and  purity  of  the  little 
town  that  I  had  babbled  about.  At  the  back 
of  a  shop,  and  discreetly  curtained,  was  a 
room  where  the  young  men  who  had  been 
talking  to  the  young  maidens  could  play  poker 
and  drink  and  swear,  and  on  the  shop  were 
dime  novels  of  bloodshed  to  corrupt  the  mind 
of  the  little  boy,  and  prurient  servant-girl-slush 
yarns  to  poison  the  mind  of  the  girl.  Cali 
fornia  only  laughed  grimly,  He  said  that  all 
these  little  one-house  towns  were  pretty  much 
the  same  all  over  the  States. 

That  night  I  dreamed  I  was  back  in  India 
with  no  place  to  sleep  in ;  tramping  up  and 
down  the  Station  mall  and  asking  everybody, 
"  When  shall  I  see  you  again  ?  " 


88  American  Notes 


VI. 


**  The  race  is  neither  to  the  swift  nor  the  battle  to 
the  strong ;  but  time  and  chance  cometh  to  all." 

I  HAVE  lived ! 

The  American  Continent  may  now  sink 
under  the  sea,  for  I  have  taken  the  best  that 
it  yields,  and  the  best  was  neither  dollars, 
love,  nor  real  estate. 

Hear  now,  gentlemen  of  the  Punjab  Fishing 
Club,  who  whip  the  reaches  of  the  Tavi,  and 
you  who  painfully  import  trout  to  Ootacamund, 
and  I  will  tell  you  how  "  old  man  California  " 
and  I  went  fishing,  and  you  shall  envy. 

We  returned  from  the  Dalles  to  Portland 
by  the  way  we  had  come,  the  steamer  stopping 
en  route  to  pick  up  a  night's  catch  of  one  of 
the  salmon  wheels  on  the  river,  and  to  deliver 
it  at  a  cannery  down-stream. 

When  the  proprietor  of  the  wheel  announced 
that  his  take  was  two  thousand  two  hundred 
and  thirty  pounds'  weight  of  fish,  "  and  not  a 
heavy  catch,  neither,"  I  thought  he  lied.  But 
he  sent  the  boxes  aboard,  and  I  counted  the 
salmon  by  the  hundred — huge  fifty-pounders, 
hardly  dead,  scores  of  twenty  and  thirty- 
pounders,  and  a  host  of  smaller  fish. 

The  steamer  halted  at  a  rude  wooden  ware* 


American  Notes  89 

house  built  on  piles  in  a  lonely  reach  of  the 
river,  and  sent  in  the  fish.  I  followed  them 
up  a  scale-strewn,  fishy  incline  that  led  to  the 
cannery.  The  crazy  building  was  quivering 
with  the  machinery  on  its  floors,  and  a  glit 
tering  bank  of  tin-scraps  twenty  feet  high 
showed  where  the  waste  was  thrown  after  the 
cans  had  been  punched.  Only  Chinamen 
were  employed  on  the  work,  and  they  looked 
like  blood-besmeared  yellow  devils,  as  they 
crossed  the  rifts  of  sunlight  that  lay  upon  the 
floor.  When  our  consignment  arrived,  the 
rough  wooden  boxes  broke  of  themselves  as 
they  were  dumped  down  under  a  jet  of  water, 
and  the  salmon  burst  out  in  a  stream  of  quick 
silver.  A  Chinaman  jerked  up  a  twenty- 
pounder,  beheaded  and  detailed  it  with  two 
swift  strokes  of  a  knife,  flicked  out  its  internal 
arrangements  with  a  third,  and  cast  it  into  a 
bloody-dyed  tank.  The  headless  fish  leaped 
from  under  his  hands  as  though  they  were 
facing  a  rapid.  Other  Chinamen  pulled  them 
from  the  vat  and  thrust  them  under  a  thing 
like  a  chaff-cutter,  which,  descending,  hewed 
them  into  unseemly  red  gobbets  fit  for  the  can. 
More  Chinamen  with  yellow,  crooked  fingers, 
jammed  the  stuff  into  the  cans,  which  slid 
down  some  marvelous  machine  forthwith, 
soldering  their  own  tops  as  they  passed.  Each 
can  was  hastily  tested  for  flaws,  and  then  sunk, 
with  a  hundred  companions,  into  a  vat  oi 
boiling  water,  there  to  be  half  cooked  for  3 


9o  American  Notes 

few  minutes.  The  cans  bulged  slightly  after 
the  operation,  and  were  therefore  slidden 
along  by  the  trolleyful  to  men  with  needles 
and  soldering  irons,  who  vented  them,  and 
soldered  the  aperture.  Except  for  the  label, 
the  "  finest  Columbia  salmon  "  was  ready  for 
the  market.  I  was  impressed,  not  so  much 
with  the  speed  of  the  manufacture,  as  the 
character  of  the  factory.  Inside,  on  a  floor 
ninety  by  forty,  the  most  civilized  and  mur 
derous  of  machinery.  Outside,  three  foot 
steps,  the  thick-growing  pines  and  the  im 
mense  solitude  of  the  hills.  Our  steamer  only 
stayed  twenty  minutes  at  that  place,  but  I 
counted  two  hundred  and  forty  finished  cans, 
made  from  the  catch  of  the  previous  night, 
-ere  I  left  the  slippery,  blood-stained,  scale- 
spangled,  oily  floors,  and  the  offal-smeared 
Chinamen. 

We  reached  Portland,  California  and  I, 
crying  for  salmon,  and  the  real-estate  man,  to 
•whom  we  had  been  intrusted  by  "  Portland  " 
the  insurance  man,  met  us  in  the  street  saying 
that  fifteen  miles  away,  across  country,  we 
should  come  upon  a  place  called  Clackamas 
where  we  might  perchance  find  what  we 
desired.  And  California,  his  coat-tails  flying 
in  the  wind,  ran  to  a  livery  stable  and  char 
tered  a  wagon  and  team  forthwith.  I  could 
push  the  wagon  about  with  one  hand,  so  light 
was  its  structure.  The  team  was  purely 
American — that  is  to  say,  almost  human  in  its 


American  Notes  91 

intelligence  and  docility.  Some  one  said  that 
the  roads  were  not  good  on  the  way  to  Clack- 
amas  and  warned  us  against  smashing  the 
springs.  "  Portland,"  who  had  watched  the 
preparations,  finally  reckoned  "  he'd  come 
along  too,"  and  under  heavenly  skies  we  three 
companions  of  a  day  set  forth  ;  California 
carefully  lashing  our  rods  into  the  carriage, 
and  the  bystanders  overwhelming  us  with 
directions  as  to  the  sawmills  we  were  to  pass, 
the  ferries  we  were  to  cross,  and  the  sign-posts 
we  were  to  seek  signs  from.  Half  a  mile 
from  this  city  of  fifty  thousand  souls  we  struck 
(and  this  must  be  taken  literally)  a  plank-road 
that  would  have  been  a  disgrace  to  an  Irish 
village. 

Then  six  miles  of  macadamized  road  showed 
us  that  the  team  could  move.  A  railway  ran 
between  us  and  the  banks  of  the  Willamette, 
and  another  above  us  through  the  mountains. 
All  the  land  was  dotted  with  small  townships, 
and  the  roads  were  full  of  farmers  in  their 
town  wagons,  bunches  of  tow-haired,  boggle- 
eyed  urchins  sitting  in  the  hay  behind.  The 
men  generally  looked  like  loafers,  but  their 
women  were  all  well  dressed.  Brown  hussar- 
braiding  on  a  tailor-made  jacket  does  not, 
however,  consort  with  hay-wagons.  Then  we 
Struck  into  the  woods  along  what  California 
called  a  "  camina  rcale" — a  good  road, — and 
Portland  a  "  fair  track."  It  wound  in  and  out 
among  fire-blackened  stumps,  under  pine 


92  American  Notes 

trees,  along  the  corners  of  log-fences,  through 
hollows  which  must  be  hopeless  marsh  in  the 
winter,  and  up  absurd  gradients.  But  no 
where  throughout  its  length  did  I  see  any  evi 
dence  of  road-making.  There  was  a  track, — 
you  couldn't  well  get  off  it, — and  it  was  all  you 
could  do  to  stay  on  it.  The  dust  lay  a  foot 
thick  in  the  blind  ruts,  and  under  the  dust  we 
found  bits  of  planking  and  bundles  of  brush 
wood  that  sent  the  wagon  bounding  into  the 
air.  Sometimes  we  crashed  through  bracken  ; 
anon  where  the  blackberries  grew  rankest  we 
found  a  lonely  little  cemetery,  the  wooden 
rails  all  awry,  and  the  pitiful  stumpy  headstones 
nodding  drunkenly  at  the  soft  green  mulleins. 
Then  with  oaths  and  the  sound  of  rent  under 
wood  a  yoke  of  mighty  bulls  would  swing  down 
a  "  skid  "  road,  hauling  a  forty-foot  log  along 
a  rudely  made  slide.  A  valley  full  of  wheat 
and  cherry  trees  succeeded,  and  halting  at  a 
house  we  bought  ten  pound  weight  of  luscious 
black  cherries  for  something  less  than  a  rupee 
and  got  a  drink  of  icy-cold  water  for  nothing, 
while  the  untended  team  browsed  sagaciously 
by  the  roadside.  Once  we  found  a  wayside 
camp  of  horse-dealers  lounging  by  a  pool, 
ready  for  a  sale  or  a  swap,  and  once  two 
sun-tanned  youngsters  shot  down  a  hill  on 
Indian  ponies,  their  full  creels  banging  from 
the  high-pommeled  saddles.  They  had  been 
fishing,  and  were  our  brethren  therefore.  We 
shouted  aloud  in  chorus  to  scare  a  wild-cat ; 


American  Notes  93 

we  squabbled  over  th$  reasons  that  had  led  a 
snake  to  cross  a  road  ;  we  heaved  bits  of  bark 
at  a  venturesome  chipmunk,  who  was  really 
the  little  gray  squirrel  of  India  and  had  come 
to  call  on  me  ;  we  lost  our  way  and  got  the 
wagon  so  beautifully  fixed  on  a  steep  road 
that  we  had  to  tie  the  two  hind-wheels  to  get 
it  down.  Above  all,  California  told  tales  of 
Nevada  and  Arizona,  of  lonely  nights  spent 
out  prospecting,  of  the  slaughter  of  deer  and 
the  chase  of  men ;  of  woman,  lovely  woman, 
who  is  a  firebrand  in  a  Western  city,  and 
leads  to  the  popping  of  pistols,  and  of  the  sud 
den  changes  and  chances  of  Fortune,  who  de 
lights  in  making  the  miner  or  the  lumberman 
a  quadruplicate  millionaire,  and  in  "  busting  " 
the  railroad  king.  That  was  a  day  to  be  re 
membered,  and  it  had  only  begun  when  we 
drew  rein  at  a  tiny  farmhouse  on  the  banks  of 
the  Clackamas  and  sought  horse-feed  and 
lodging  ere  we  hastened  to  the  river  that 
broke  over  a  weir  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away. 

Imagine  a  stream  seventy  yards  broad 
divided  by  a  pebbly  island,  running  over 
seductive  riffles,  and  swirling  into  deep,  quiet 
pools  where  the  good  salmon  goes  to  smoke 
his  pipe  after  meals.  Set  such  a  stream  amid 
fields  of  breast-high  crops  surrounded  by  hills 
of  pine,  throw  in  where  you  please  quiet 
water,  log-fenced  meadows,  and  a  hundred- 
foot  bluff  just  to  keep  the  scenery  from  grow 


94  American  Notes 

ing  too  monotonous,  and  you  will  get  some 
faint  notion  of  the  Clackamas. 

Portland  had  no  rod.  He  held  the  gaff  and 
the  whisky.  California  sniffed,  upstream  and 
downstream  across  the  racing  water,  chose 
his  ground,  and  let  the  gaudy  spoon  drop  in 
the  tail  of  a  riffle.  I  was  getting  my  rod  to 
gether  when  I  heard  the  joyous  shriek  of  the 
reel  and  the  yells  of  California,  and  three  feet 
of  living  silver  leaped  into  the  air  far  across 
the  water.  The  forces  were  engaged.  The 
salmon  tore  up  stream,  the  tense  line  cutting 
the  water  like  a  tide-rip  behind  him,  and  the 
light  bamboo  bowed  to  breaking.  What  hap 
pened  after  I  cannot  tell.  California  swore 
and  prayed,  and  Portland  shouted  advice,  and 
I  did  all  three  for  what  appeared  to  be  half  a 
day,  but  was  in  reality  a  little  over  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  and  sullenly  our  fish  came  home 
with  spurts  of  temper,  dashes  head-on,  and 
sarabands  in  the  air ;  but  home  to  the  bank 
came  he,  and  the  remorseless  reel  gathered  up 
the  thread  of  his  life  inch  by  inch.  We 
landed  him  in  a  little  bay,  and  the  spring- 
weight  checked  at  eleven  and  a  half  pounds. 
Eleven  and  one-half  pounds  of  fighting  sal 
mon  1  We  danced  a  war-dance  on  the  pebbles, 
and  California  caught  me  round  the  waist  in 
a  hug  that  went  near  to  breaking  my  ribs 
while  he  shouted  :  "  Partner  !  Partner  I 
This  is  glory !  Now  you  catch  your  fish  1 
Twenty-four  years  I've  waited  for  this  I  " 


American  Notes  95 

I  went  into  that  icy-cold  river  and  made  my 
cast  just  above  a  weir,  and  all  but  foul-hooked 
a  blue  and  black  water-snake  with  a  coral 
mouth  who  coiled  herself  on  a  stone  and  hissed 
maledictions.  The  next  cast — ah,  the  pride 
of  it,  the  regal  splendor  of  it  I  the  thrill  that 
ran  down  from  finger-tip  to  toe  1  The  water 
boiled.  He  broke  for  the  fly  and  got  it  I 
There  remained  enough  sense  in  me  to  give 
him  all  he  wanted  when  he  jumped  not  once 
but  twenty  times  before  the  upstream  flight 
that  ran  my  line  out  to  the  last  half-dozen 
turns,  and  I  saw  the  nickled  reel-bar  glitter 
under  the  thinning  green  coils.  My  thumb 
was  burned  deep  when  I  strove  to  stopper  the 
line,  but  I  did  not  feel  it  till  later,  for  my  soul 
was  out  in  the  dancing  water  praying  for  him 
to  turn  ere  he  took  my  tackle  away.  The 
prayer  was  heard.  As  I  bowed  back,  the  butt 
of  the  rod  on  my  left  hip-bone  and  the  top 
joint  dipping  like  unto  a  weeping  willow,  he 
turned,  and  I  accepted  each  inch  of  slack  that 
I  could  by  any  means  get  in  as  a  favor  from 
on  High.  There  be  several  sorts  of  success 
in  this  world  that  taste  well  in  the  moment 
of  enjoyment,  but  I  question  whether  the 
stealthy  theft  of  line  from  an  able-bodied 
salmon  who  knows  exactly  what  you  are 
doing  and  why  you  are  doing  it  is  not  sweeter 
than  any  other  victory  within  human  scope. 
Like  California's  fish,  he  ran  at  me  head-on 
and  leaped  against  the  line,  but  the  Lord 


96  American  Notes 

gave  me  two  hundred  and  fifty  pairs  of  fingers 
in  that  hour.  The  banks  and  the  pine  trees 
danced  dizzily  round  me,  but  I  only  reeled — 
reeled  as  for  life — reeled  for  hours,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  reeling  continued  to  give  him 
the  butt  while  he  sulked  in  a  pool.  California 
was  farther  up  the  reach,  and  with  the  corner 
of  my  eye  I  could  see  him  casting  with  long 
casts  and  much  skill.  Then  he  struck,  and 
my  fish  broke  for  the  weir  at  the  same  in 
stant,  and  down  the  reach  we  came,  Cali 
fornia  and  I ;  reel  answering  reel,  even  as  the 
morning  stars  sung  together. 

The  first  wild  enthusiasm  of  capture  had 
died  away.  We  were  both  at  work  now  in 
deadly  earnest  to  prevent  the  lines  fouling,  to 
stall  off  a  downstream  rush  for  deep  water 
just  above  the  weir,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
get  the  fish  into  the  shallow  bay  downstream 
that  gave  the  best  practicable  landing.  Port 
land  bade  us  both  be  of  good  heart,  and  vol 
unteered  to  take  the  rod  from  my  hands.  1 
would  rather  have  died  among  the  pebbles 
than  surrender  my  right  to  play  and  land  my 
first  salmon,  weight  unknown,  on  an  eight- 
ounce  rod.  I  heard  California,  at  my  ear  it 
seemed,  gasping :  "  He's  a  fighter  from  Fight- 
ersville,  sure  !  "  as  his  fish  made  a  fresh  break 
across  the  stream.  I  saw  Portland  fall  off  a 
log  fence,  break  the  overhanging  bank,  and 
clatter  down  to  the  pebbles,  all  sand  and 
landing-net,  and  I  dropped  on  a  log  to  rest  for 


American  Notes  97 

a  moment.  As  I  drew  breath  the  weary 
hands  slackened  their  hold,  and  I  forgot  to 
give  him  the  butt.  A  wild  scatter  in  the 
water,  a  plunge  and  a  break  for  the  head 
waters  of  the  Clackamas  was  my  reward,  and 
the  hot  toil  of  reeling-in  with  one  eye  under 
the  water  and  the  other  on  the  top  joint  of 
the  rod,  was  renewed.  Worst  of  all,  I  was 
blocking  California's  path  to  the  little  landing- 
bay  aforesaid,  and  he  had  to  halt  and  tire  his 
prize  where  he  was.  "  The  Father  of  all 
Salmon !  "  he  shouted.  "  For  the  love  of 
Heaven,  get  your  trout  to  bank,  Johnny  Bull.'7 
But  I  could  no  more.  Even  the  insult  failed 
to  move  me.  The  rest  of  the  game  was  with 
the  salmon.  He  suffered  himself  to  be  drawn, 
skipping  with  pretended  delight  at  getting  to 
the  haven  where  I  would  fain  have  him.  Yet 
no  sooner  did  he  feel  shoal  water  under  his 
ponderous  belly  than  he  backed  like  a  tor 
pedo-boat,  and  the  snarl  of  the  reel  told  me 
that  my  labor  was  in  vain.  A  dozen  times  at 
least  this  happened  ere  the  line  hinted 
he  had  given  up  that  battle  and  would 
be  towed  in.  He  was  towed.  The  land 
ing-net  was  useless  for  one  of  his  size,  and 
I  would  not  have  him  gaffed.  I  stepped 
into  the  shallows  and  heaved  him  out  with  a 
respectful  hand  under  the  gill,  for  which  kind 
ness  he  battered  me  about  the  legs  with  his 
tail,  and  I  felt  the  strength  of  him  and  was 
proud.  California  had  taken  my  place  in  the 
7 


98  American  Notes 

shallows,  his  fish  hard  held.  I  was  up  the 
bank  lying  full  length  on  the  sweet-scented 
grass,  and  gasping  in  company  with  my  first 
salmon  caught,  played  and  landed  on  an  eight- 
ounce  rod.  My  hands  were  cut  and  bleeding. 
I  was  dripping  with  sweat,  spangled  like  har 
lequin  with  scales,  wet  from  the  waist  down, 
nose  peeled  by  the  sun,  but  utterly,  supremely, 
and  consummately  happy.  He,  the  beauty, 
the  darling,  the  daisy,  my  Salmon  Bahadur, 
weighed  twelve  pounds,  and  I  had  been  seven 
and  thirty  minutes  bringing  him  to  bankl 
He  had  been  lightly  hooked  on  the  angle  of 
the  right  jaw,  and  the  hook  had  not  wearied 
him.  That  hour  I  sat  among  princes  and 
crowned  heads — greater  than  them  all.  Be 
low  the  bank  we  heard  California  scuffling 
with  his  salmon,  and  swearing  Spanish  oaths. 
Portland  and  I  assisted  at  the  capture,  and 
the  fish  dragged  the  spring-balance  out  by  the 
roots.  It  was  only  constructed  to  weigh  up  to 
fifteen  pounds.  We  stretched  the  three  fish 
on  the  grass, — the  eleven  and  a  half,  the 
twelve,  and  fifteen  pounder, — and  we  swore 
an  oath  that  all  who  came  after  should  merely 
be  weighed  and  put  back  again. 

How  shall  I  tell  the  glories  of  that  day  so 
that  you  may  be  interested  ?  Again  and 
again  did  California  and  I  prance  down  that 
reach  to  the  little  bay,  each  with  a  salmon  in 
tow,  and  land  him  in  the  shallows.  Then 
Portland  took  my  rod,  and  caught  some  ten- 


American  Notes  99 

pounders,  and  my  spoon  was  carried  away  by 
an  unknown  leviathan.  Each  fish,  for  the 
merits  of  the  three  that  had  died  so  gamely, 
was  hastily  hooked  on  the  balance  and  flung 
back,  Portland  recording  the  weight  in  a 
pocket-book,  for  he  was  a  real-estate  man. 
Each  fish  fought  for  all  he  was  worth,  and  none 
more  savagely  than  the  smallest — a  game  little 
six-pounder.  At  the  end  of  six  hours  we 
added  up  the  list.  Total :  16  fish,  aggregate 
weight  142  Ibs.  The  score  in  detail  runs 
something  like  this — it  is  only  interesting  to 
those  concerned:  15,  n^,  12,  10,9^,8, 
and  so  forth ;  as  I  have  said,  nothing  under 
six  pounds,  and  three  ten-pounders. 

Very  solemnly  and  thankfully  we  put  up  our 
rods — it  was  glory  enough  for  all  time — and 
returned  weeping  in  each  other's  arms — weep 
ing  tears  of  pure  joy— to  that  simple  bare 
legged  family  in  the  packing-case  house  by 
the  waterside. 

The  old  farmer  recollected  days  and  nights 
of  fierce  warfare  with  the  Indians — "  way  back 
in  the  Fifties,"  when  every  ripple  of  the 
Columbia  River  and  her  tributaries  hid  covert 
danger.  God  had  dowered  him  with  a  queer 
crooked  gift  of  expression,  and  a  fierce  anxiety 
for  the  welfare  of  his  two  little  sons — tanned  and 
reserved  children  who  attended  school  daily, 
and  spoke  good  English  in  a  strange  tongue. 

His  wife  was  an  austere  woman  who  had 
once  been  kindly  and  perhaps  handsome. 


loo  American  Notes 

Many  years  of  toil  had  taken  the  elasticity 
out  of  step  and  voice.  She  looked  for  nothing 
better  than  everlasting  work — the  chafing  de 
tail  of  housework,  and  then  a  grave  somewhere 
up  the  hill  among  the  blackberries  and  the 
pines.  But  in  her  grim  way  she  sympathized 
with  her  eldest  daughter,  a  small  and  silent 
maiden  of  eighteen,  who  had  thoughts  very 
far  from  the  meals  she  tended  or  the  pans  she 
scoured. 

We  stumbled  into  the  household  at  a  crisis ; 
and  there  was  a  deal  of  downright  humanity  in 
that  same.  A  bad,  wicked  dressmaker  had 
promised  the  maiden  a  dress  in  time  for  a  to 
morrow's  railway  journey,  and,  though  the 
barefooted  Georgie,  who  stood  in  very  whole 
some  awe  of  his  sister,  had  scoured  the  woods 
on  a  pony  in  search,  that  dress  never  arrived. 
So  with  sorrow  in  her  heart,  and  a  hundred 
Sister  Anne  glances  up  the  road,  she  waited 
upon  the  strangers,  and,  I  doubt  not,  cursed 
them  for  the  wants  that  stood  between  her 
and  her  need  for  tears.  It  was  a  genuine  little 
tragedy.  The  mother  in  a  heavy,  passionless 
voice  rebuked  her  impatience,  y«t  sat  bowed 
over  a  heap  of  sewing  for  the  daughter's 
benefit. 

These  things  I  beheld  in  the  long  marigold- 
scented  twilight  and  whispering  night,  loaf 
ing  round  the  little  house  with  California,  who 
unfolded  himself  like  a  lotus  to  the  moon  ;  or 
in  the  little  boarded  bunk  that  was  our  bed- 


American  Notes  101 

room,  swapping  tales  with  Portland  and  the 
old  man.  Most  of  the  yarns  began  in  this 
way: 

"  Red  Larry  was  a  bull-puncher  back  of 
Lone  County,  Montana,"  or  "  There  was  a 
man  riding  the  trail  met  a  jack-rabbit  sitting 
in  a  cactus,"  or  "  'Bout  the  time  of  the  San 
Diego  land  boom,  a  woman  from  Monterey," 
etc. 

You  can  try  to  piece  out  for  yourselves  what 
sort  of  stories  they  were. 

And  next  day  California  took  me  under 
his  wing  and  told  me  we  were  going  to  see  a 
city  smitten  by  a  boom,  and  catch  trout.  So 
we  took  a  train  and  killed  a  cow — she 
wouldn't  get  out  of  the  way,  and  the  loco 
motive  "  chanced  "  her  and  slew — and  cross 
ing  into  Washington  Territory  won  the  town 
of  Tacoma,  which  stands  at  the  head  of  Puget 
Sound  upon  the  road  to  Alaska  and  Van 
couver. 

California  was  right.  Tacoma  was  literally 
staggering  under  a  boom  of  the  boomiest.  I 
do  not  quite  remember  what  her  natural 
resources  were  supposed  to  be,  though  every 
second  man  shrieked  a  selection  in  my  ear. 
They  included  coal  and  iron,  carrots,  potatoes, 
lumber,  shipping,  and  a  crop  of  thin  news 
papers  all  telling  Portland  that  her  days  were 
numbered.  California  and  I  struck  the  place 
at  twilight.  The  rude  boarded  pavements  of 
the  main  streets  rumbled  under  the  heels  of 


IC2  American  Notes 

hundreds  of  furious  men  all  actively  engaged 
in  hunting  drinks  and  eligible  corner-lots. 
They  sought  the  drinks  first.  The  street  it 
self  alternated  five-story  business  blocks  of 
the  later  and  more  abominable  forms  of  archi 
tecture  with  board  shanties.  Overhead  the 
drunken  telegraph,  telephone,  and  electric 
light  wires  tangled  on  the  tottering  posts 
whose  butts  were  half-whittled  through  by  the 
knife  of  the  loafer.  Down  the  muddy,  grimy, 
unmetaled  thoroughfare  ran  a  horse-car  line 
— the  metals  three  inches  above  road  leval. 
Beyond  this  street  rose  many  hills,  and  the 
town  was  thrown  like  a  broken  set  of  domi 
noes  over  all.  A  steam  tramway — it  left  the 
track  the  only  time  I  used  it — was  nosing 
about  the  hills,  but  the  most  prominent  fea 
tures  of  the  landscape  were  the  foundations 
in  brick  and  stone  of  a  gigantic  opera  house 
and  the  blackened  stumps  of  the  pines. 
California  sized  up  the  town  with  one  com 
prehensive  glance.  "  Big  boom,"  said  he  ; 
and  a  few  instants  later:  "About  time  to 
step  off,  /  think,"  meaning  thereby  that  the 
boom  had  risen  to  its  limit,  and  it  would  be 
expedient  not  to  meddle  with  it.  We  passed 
down  ungraded  streets  that  ended  abruptly  in 
a  fifteen-foot  drop  and  a  nest  of  brambles; 
along  pavements  that  beginning  in  pine-plank 
ended  in  the  living  tree  ;  by  hotels  with  Turk 
ish  mosque  trinketry  on  their  shameless  tops, 
and  the  pine  stumps  at  their  very  doors ;  by 


American  Notes  103 

a  female  seminary,  tall,  gaunt  and  red,  which 
a  native  of  the  town  bade  us  marvel  at,  and 
we  marveled ;  by  houses  built  in  imitation  of 
the  ones  on  Nob  Hill,  San  Francisco, — after 
the  Dutch  fashion  ;  by  other  houses  plente- 
ously  befouled  with  jig-saw  work,  and  others 
flaring  with  the  castlemented,  battlemented 
bosh  of  the  wooden  Gothic  school. 

"  You  can  tell  just  about  when  those  fellers 
had  their  houses  built,"  quoth  California. 
"  That  one  yonder  wanted  to  be  /talian,  and 
his  architect  built  him  what  he  wanted.  The 
new  houses  with  the  low  straddle  roofs  and 
windows  pitched  in  sideways  and  red  brick 
walls  are  Dutch.  That's  the  latest  idea.  I1 
can  read  the  history  of  the  town."  I  had  na 
occasion  so  to  read.  The  natives  were  only 
too  glad  and  too  proud  to  tell  me.  The  hotel 
walls  bore  a  flaming  panorama  of  Tacoma  in 
•which  by  the  eye  of  faith  I  saw  a  faint  resem 
blance  to  the  real  town.  The  hotel  stationary- 
advertised  that  Tacoma  bore  on  its  face  alf 
the  advantages  of  the  highest  civilization,  and 
the  newspapers  sang  the  same  tune  in  a 
louder  key.  The  real-estate  agents  were  sell 
ing  house-lots  on  unmade  streets  miles  away 
for  thousands  of  dollars.  On  the  streets — the 
rude,  crude  streets,  where  the  unshaded  elec 
tric  light  was  fighting  with  the  gentle  northern^ 
twilight — men  were  babbling  of  money,  town' 
lots,  and  again  money — how  Alf  or  Ed  had! 
done  such  and  such  a  thing  that  had  brought 


104  American  Notes 

him  so  much  money ;  and  round  the  corner 
in  a  creaking  boarded  hall  the  red-jersey  ed 
Salvationists  were  calling  upon  mankind  to 
renounce  all  and  follow  their  noisy  God.  The 
men  dropped  in  by  twos  and  threes,  listened 
silently  for  a  while,  and  as  silently  went  their 
way,  the  cymbals  clashing  after  them  in  vain. 
I  think  it  was  the  raw,  new  smell  of  fresh 
sawdust  everywhere  pervading  the  air  that 
threw  upon  me  a  desolating  homesickness. 
It  brought  back  in  a  moment  all  remem 
brances  of  that  terrible  first  night  at  school 
when  the  establishment  has  been  newly  white 
washed,  and  a  soft  smell  of  escaping  gas 
mingles  with  the  odor  of  trunks  and  wet 
overcoats.  I  was  a  little  boy,  and  the  school 
was  very  new.  A  vagabond  among  collarless 
vagabonds,  I  loafed  up  the  street,  looking  into 
the  fronts  of  little  shops  where  they  sold  slop 
shirts  at  fancy  prices,  which  shops  I  saw  later 
described  in  the  papers  as  "great."  Cali 
fornia  had  gone  off  to  investigate  on  his  own 
account,  and  presently  returned,  laughing 
noiselessly.  "  They  are  all  mad  here,"  he 
said,  "  all  mad.  A  man  nearly  pulled  a  gun 
on  me  because  I  didn't  agree  with  him  that 
Tacoma  was  going  to  whip  San  Francisco  on 
the  strength  of  carrots  and  potatoes.  I  asked 
him  to  tell  me  what  the  town  produced,  and  I 
couldn't  get  anything  out  of  him  except  those 
two  darned  vegetables.  Say,  what  do  you 
think  ? " 


American  Notes  105 

I  responded  firmly,  "  I'm  going  into  Brit 
ish  territory  a  little  while — to  draw  breath." 

"  I'm  going  up  the  Sound,  too,  for  a  while," 
said  he,  "  but  I'm  coming  back — coming  back 
to  our  salmon  on  the  Clackamas.  A  man 
has  been  pressing  me  to  buy  real  estate 
here.  Young  feller,  don't  you  buy  real 
estate  here." 

California  disappeared  with  a  kindly  wave 
of  his  overcoat  into  worlds  other  than  mine, 
— good  luck  go  with  him,  for  he  was  a  true 
sportsman  1 — and  I  took  a  steamer  up  Puget 
Sound  for  Vancouver,  which  is  the  terminus 
of  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway.  That  was  a 
queer  voyage.  The  water,  landlocked  among 
a  thousand  islands,  lay  still  as  oil  under 
our  bows,  and  the  wake  of  the  screw  broke 
up  the  unquivering  reflections  of  pines  and 
cliffs  a  mile  away.  'Twas  as  though  we  were 
trampling  on  glass.  No  one,  not  even  the 
Government,  knows  the  number  of  islands  in 
the  Sound.  Even  now  you  can  get  one 
almost  for  the  asking;  can  build  a  house, 
raise  sheep,  catch  salmon,  and  become  a  king 
on  a  small  scale — your  subjects  the  Indians 
of  the  reservation,  who  glide  among  the  islets 
in  their  canoes  and  scratch  their  hides  monkey- 
wise  by  the  beach.  A  Sound  Indian  is  un 
lovely,  and  only  by  accident  picturesque. 
His  wife  drives  the  canoe,  but  he  himself  is 
so  thorough  a  mariner  that  he  can  spring  up 
in  his  cockle-craft  and  whack  his  wife  ovef 


106  American  Notes 

the  head  with  a  paddle  without  tipping  the 
whole  affair  into  the  water.  This  I  have  seen 
him  do  unprovoked.  I  fancy  it  must  have 
been  to  show  off  before  the  whites. 

Have  I  told  you  anything  about  Seattle — 
the  town  that  was  burned  out  a  few  weeks  ago 
when  the  insurance  men  at  San  Francisco  took 
their  losses  with  a  grin  ?  In  the  ghostly  twi 
light,  just  as  the  forest  fires  were  beginning  to 
glare  from  the  unthrifty  islands,  we  struck  it 
— struck  it  heavily,  for  the  wharves  had  all 
been  burned  down,  and  we  tied  up  where  we 
could,  crashing  into  the  rotten  foundations  of 
a  boat  house  as  a  pig  roots  in  high  grass. 
The  town,  like  Tacoma,  was  built  upon  a  hill. 
In  the  heart  of  the  business  quarters  there 
was  a  horrible  black  smudge,  as  though  a 
Hand  had  come  down  and  rubbed  the  place 
smooth.  I  know  now  what  being  wiped  out 
means.  The  smudge  seemed  to  be  about  a 
mile  long,  and  its  blackness  was  relieved  by 
tents  in  which  men  were  doing  business  with 
the  wreck  of  the  stock  they  had  saved. 
There  were  shouts  and  counter-shouts  from 
the  steamer  to  the  temporary  wharf,  which 
was  laden  with  shingles  for  roofing,  chairs, 
trunks,  provision-boxes,  and  all  the  lath  and 
string  arrangements  out  of  which  a  western 
town  is  made.  This  is  the  way  the  shouts 
ran : — 

"  Oh,  George  1  What's  the  best  witlt 
you  ? " 


American  Notes  107 

"  Nawthin'.  Got  the  old  safe  out.  She's 
burned  to  a  crisp.  Books  all  gone." 

"Save  anythin'?" 

"  Bar'l  o'  crackers  and  my  wife's  bonnet. 
Coin'  to  start  store  on  them  though." 

"  Bully  for  you.  Where's  that  Emporium  ? 
I'll  drop  in." 

"  Corner  what  used  to  be  Fourth  and  Main 
— little  brown  tent  close  to  militia  picquet 
Sa-ay  I  We're  under  martial  law,  an'  all  the 
saloons  are  shut  down." 

"Best  for  you,  George.  Some  men  gets 
crazy  with  a  fire,  an'  liquor  makes  'em  crazier." 

"  'Spect  any  creator-condemned  son  of  a 
female  dog  who  has  lost  all  his  fixin's  in  a 
conflagration  is  going  to  put  ice  on  his  head 
an*  run  for  Congress,  do  you  ?  How'd  you 
like  us  act  ? " 

The  Job's  comforter  on  the  steamer  retired 
into  himself. 

"  Oh,  George "  dived  into  the  bar  for  a 
drink. 

P.  S. — Among  many  curiosities  I  have  un 
earthed  one.  It  was  a  Face  on  a  steamer — a 
face  above  a  pointed  straw-colored  beard,  a 
face  with  thin  lips  and  eloquent  eyes.  We 
conversed,  and  presently  I  got  at  the  ideas  of 
the  Face.  It  was,  though  it  lived  for  nine 
months  of  the  year  in  the  wilds  of  Alaska  and 
British  Columbia,  an  authority  on  the  canon 
law  of  the  Church  of  England — a  zealous  and 
bitter  upholder  of  the  supremacy  of  the  afore* 


io8  American  Notes 

said  Church.  Into  my  amazed  ears,  as  the 
steamer  plodded  through  the  reflections  of  the 
stars,  it  poured  the  battle-cry  of  the  Church 
Militant  here  on  earth,  and  put  forward  as  a 
foul  injustice  that  in  the  prisons  of  British 
Columbia  the  Protestant  chaplain  did  not  al 
ways  belong  to  the  Church.  The  Face  had 
no  official  connection  with  the  august  body, 
and  by  force  of  his  life  very  seldom  attended 
service. 

"  But,"  said  he,  proudly,  "  I  should  think 
it  direct  disobedience  to  the  orders  of  my 
Church  if  I  attended  any  other  places  of  wor 
ship  than  those  prescribed.  I  was  once  for 
three  months  in  a  place  where  there  was  only 
a  Wesleyan  Methodist  chapel,  and  I  never  set 
,foot  in  it  once,  Sir.  Never  once.  'Twould 
have  been  heresy.  Rank  heresy." 

And  as  I  leaned  over  the  rail  methought  that 
all  the  little  stars  in  the  water  were  shaking 
with  austere  merriment!  But  it  may  have 
been  only  the  ripple  of  the  steamer,  after  all 


Si    ,«. 

sW, 


:;; 

*  But  who  bhall  chronicle  the  ways 
Of  common  folk,  the  nights  and  days 
Spent  with  rough  goatherds  on  the  snows^ 
And  travelers  come  whence  no  man  knows  ?  ** 

THIS  day  I  know  how  a  deserter  feels.  Here 
in  Victoria,  a  hundred  and  forty  miles  out  o£ 
America,  the  mail  brings  me  news  from  our 
Home — the  land  of  regrets.  I  was  enjoying 
myself  by  the  side  of  a  trout-stream,  and  I  feel 
inclined  to  apologize  for  every  rejoicing  breath 
I  drew  in  the  diamond  clear  air.  The  sick 
ness,  they  said,  is  heavy  with  you ;  from 
Rewari  to  the  south  good  men  are  dying. 
'  Two  names  come  in  by  the  mail  of  two  strong 
men  dead — men  that  I  dined  and  jested  with 
only  a  little  time  ago,  and  it  seems  unfair  that 
I  should  be  here,  cut  off  from  the  chain-gang 
and  the  shot-drill  of  our  weary  life.  After  all, 
there  is  no  life  like  it  that  we  lead  over  yon 
der.  Americans  are  Americans,  and  there 
are  millions  of  them  ;  English  are  English ; 
but  we  of  India  are  Us  all  the  world  over, 
knowing  the  mysteries  of  each  other's  lives 
and  sorrowing  for  the  death  of  a  brother. 
How  can  I  sit  down  and  write  to  you  of  the 
mere  joy  of  being  alive  ?  The  news  has 
killed  the  pleasure  of  the  day  for  me,  and  I 

109 


no  American  Notes 

am  ashamed  of  myself.  There  are  seventy 
brook  trout  lying  in  a  creel,  fresh  drawn  from 
Harrison  Hot  Springs,  and  they  do  not  con- 
gole  me.  They  are  like  the  stolen  apples  that 
dinch  the  fact  of  a  bad  boy's  playing  truant. 
I  would  sell  them  all,  with  my  heritage  in  the 
Woods  and  air  and  the  delight  of  meeting  new 
and  strange  people,  just  to  be  back  again  in 
the  old  galling  harness,  the  heat  and  the  dust, 
the  gatherings  in  the  evenings  by  the  flooded 
tennis-courts,  the  ghastly  dull  dinners  at  the 
Club  when  the  very  last  woman  has  been 
packed  off  to  the  hills  and  the  four  or  five  sur 
viving  men  ask  the  doctor  the  symptoms  of 
incubating  smallpox.  I  should  be  troubled  in 
body,  but  at  peace  in  the  soul.  O  excellent 
and  toil-worn  public  of  mine— men  of  the 
brotherfiood,  griffins  new  joined  from  the 
February  troopers,  and  gentlemen  waiting  for 
your  off  reckonings — take  care  of  yourselves 
and  keep  well !  It  hurts  so  when  any  die. 
There  are  so  few  of  Us,  and  we  know  one 
another  too  intimately. 

***** 

Vancouver  three  years  ago  was  swept  off  by 
fire  in  sixteen  minutes,  and  only  one  house  was 
left  standing.  To-day  it  has  a  population  of 
fourteen  thousand  people,  and  builds  its  houses 
out  of  brick  with  dressed  granite  fronts.  But 
a  great  sleepiness  lies  on  Vancouver  as  com 
pared  with  an  American  town  ;  men  don't  fly 


American  Notes  in 

up  and  down  the  streets  telling  lies,  and  the 
spittoons  in  the  delightfully  comfortable  hotel 
are  unused  ;  the  baths  are  free  and  their  doors 
are  unlocked.  You  do  not  have  to  dig  up  the 
hotel  clerk  when  you  want  to  bathe,  which 
shows  the  inferiority  of  Vancouver.  An 
American  bade  me  notice  the  absence  of  bustle, 
and  was  alarmed  when  in  a  loud  and  audible 
voice  I  thanked  God  for  it.  "  Give  me  granite 
— hewn  granite  and  peace,"  quoth  I,  "  and 
keep  your  deal  boards  and  bustle  for  your 
selves." 

The  Canadian  Pacific  terminus  is  not  a  very 
gorgeous  place  as  yet,  but  you  can  be  shot 
directly  from  the  window  of  the  train  into  the 
liner  that  will  take  you  in  fourteen  days  from 
Vancouver  to  Yokohama.  The  Parthia,  of 
some  five  thousand  tons,  was  at  her  berth 
when  I  came,  and  the  sight  of  the  ex-Cunard 
on  what  seemed  to  be  a  little  lake  was  curious. 
Except  for  certain  currents  which  are  not  much 
mentioned,  but  which  make  the  entrance 
rather  unpleasant  for  sailing-boats,  Vancouver 
possesses  an  almost  perfect  harbor.  The 
town  is  built  all  round  and  about  the  harbor,, 
and  young  as  it  is,  its  streets  are  better  than 
those  of  western  America.  Moreover,  the  old 
flag  waves  over  some  of  the  buildings,  and 
this  is  cheering  to  the  soul.  The  place  is  full 
of  Englishmen  who  speak  the  English  tongue 
correctly  and  with  clearness,  avoiding  more 
blasphemy  than  is  necessary,  and  taking  a 


ii2  American  Notes 

respectable  length  of  time  to  getting  outside 
their  drinks.  These  advantages  and  others 
that  I  have  heard  about,  such  as  the  construc 
tion  of  elaborate  workshops  and  the  like  by 
the  Canadian  Pacific  in  the  near  future,  moved 
me  to  invest  in  real  estate.  He  that  sold  it  me 
was  a  delightful  English  Boy  who,  having  tried 
for  the  Army  and  failed,  had  somehow  mean 
dered  into  a  real-estate  office,  where  he  was 
doing  well.  I  couldn't  have  bought  it  from  an 
American.  He  would  have  overstated  the 
case  and  proved  me  the  possessor  of  the  origi 
nal  Eden.  All  the  Boy  said  was  :  "  I  give 
you  my  word  it  isn't  on  a  cliff  or  under  water, 
and  before  long  the  town  ought  to  move  out 
that  way.  I'd  advise  you  to  take  it."  And  I 
took  it  as  easily  as  a  man  buys  a  piece  of 
tobacco.  Me  void,  owner  of  some  four  hun 
dred  well-developed  pines,  a  few  thousand 
tons  of  granite  scattered  in  blocks  at  the  roots 
of  the  pines,  and  a  sprinkling  of  earth.  That's 
a  town-lot  in  Vancouver.  You  or  your  agent 
hold  to  it  till  property  rises,  then  sell  out  and 
buy  more  land  further  out  of  town  and  repeat 
the  process.  I  do  not  quite  see  how  this  sort 
of  thing  helps  the  growth  of  a  town,  but  the 
English  Boy  says  that  it  is  the  "  essence  of 
speculation,"  so  it  must  be  all  right.  But  I 
wish  there  were  fewer  pines  and  rather  less 
granite  on  my  ground.  Moved  by  curiosity 
and  the  lust  of  trout,  I  went  seventy  miles  up 
the  Canadian  Pacific  in  one  of  the  cross-Con- 


American  Notes  113 

tinent  cars,  which  are  cleaner  and  less  stuffy 
than  the  Pullman.  A  man  who  goes  all  the 
way  across  Canada  is  liable  to  be  disappointed 
— not  in  the  scenery,  but  in  the  progress  of 
the  country.  So  a  batch  of  wandering  politi 
cians  from  England  told  me.  They  even 
went  so  far  as  to  say  that  Eastern  Canada  was 
a  failure  and  unprofitable.  The  place  didn't 
move,  they  complained,  and  whole  counties— 
they  said  provinces — lay  under  the  rule  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  priests,  who  took  care  that 
the  people  should  not  be  over-cumbered  with 
the  good  things  of  this  world  to  the  detriment 
of  their  souls.  My  interest  was  in  the  line— 
the  real  and  accomplished  railway  which  is  to 
throw  actual  fighting  troops  into  the  East  some 
day  when  our  hold  of  the  Suez  Canal  is  tem 
porarily  loosened. 

All  that  Vancouver  wants  is  a  fat  earthwork 
fort  upon  a  hill, — there  are  plenty  of  hills  to 
choose  from, — a  selection  of  big  guns,  a  couple 
of  regiments  of  infantry,  and  later  on  a  big 
arsenal.  The  raw  self-consciousness  of  Amer 
ica  would  be  sure  to  make  her  think  these 
arrangements  intended  for  her  benefit,  but  she 
could  be  enlightened.  It  is  not  seemly  to 
leave  unprotected  the  head-end  of  a  big  rail 
way  ;  for  though  Victoria  and  Esquimalt,  our 
naval  stations  on  Vancouver  Island,  are  very 
near,  so  also  is  a  place  called  Vladivostok,  and 
though  Vancouver  Narrows  are  strait,  they 
allow  room  enough  for  a  man-of-war.  The 


H4  American  Notes 

people — I  did  not  speak  to  more  than  two 
hundred  of  them — do  not  know  about  Russia 
or  military  arrangements.  They  are  trying  to 
open  trade  with  Japan  in  lumber,  and  are 
raising  fruit,  wheat,  and  sometimes  minerals. 
All  of  them  agree  that  we  do  not  yet  know  the 
resources  of  British  Columbia,  and  all  joyfully 
bade  me  note  the  climate,  which  was  distinctly 
warm.  "  We  never  have  killing  cold  here. 
It's  the  most  perfect  climate  in  the  world." 
Then  there  are  three  perfect  climates,  for 
I  have  tasted  'em — California,  Washington 
Territory,  and  British  Columbia.  I  cannot  say 
which  is  the  loveliest. 

When  I  left  by  steamer  and  struck  across 
the  Sound  to  our  naval  station  at  Victoria, 
Vancouver  Island,  I  found  in  that  quite  English 
town  of  beautiful  streets  quite  a  colony  of  old 
men  doing  nothing  but  talking,  fishing,  and  loaf 
ing  at  the  Club.  That  means  that  the  retired  go 
to  Victoria.  On  a  thousand  a  year  pension  a 
man  would  be  a  millionaire  in  these  parts,  and 
for  four  hundred  he  could  live  well.  It  was  at 
Victoria  they  told  me  the  tale  of  the  fire  in 
Vancouver.  How  the  inhabitants  of  New 
Westminster,  twelve  miles  from  Vancouver,  saw 
a  glare  in  the  sky  at  six  in  the  evening  but 
thought  it  was  a  forest  fire  ;  how  later  bits  of 
burnt  paper  flew  about  their  streets,  and  they 
guessed  that  evil  had  happened  ;  how  an  hour 
later  a  man  rode  into  the  city  crying  that 
there  was  no  Vancouver  left.  All  had  been 


American  Notes  115 

<wiped  out  by  the  flames  in  sixteen  minutes. 
How,  two  hours  later,  the  Mayor  of  New  West 
minster  having  voted  nine  thousand  dollars 
from  the  Municipal  funds,  relief-wagons  with 
food  and  blankets  were  pouring  into  where 
Vancouver  stood.  How  fourteen  people  were 
supposed  to  have  died  in  the  fire,  but  how 
even  now  when  they  laid  new  foundations  the 
workmen  unearthed  charred  skeletons,  many 
more  than  fourteen.  "  That  night,"  said  the 
teller,  "all  Vancouver  was  houseless.  The 
wooden  town  had  gone  in  a  breath.  Next 
day  they  began  to  build  in  brick,  and  you  have 
seen  what  they  have  achieved." 

The  sight  afar  off  of  three  British  men-of- 
war  and  a  torpedo-boat  consoled  me  as  I  re 
turned  from  Victoria  to  Tacoma  and  discovered 
*n  route  that  I  was  surfeited  with  scenery. 
There  is  a  great  deal  in  the  remark  of  a  dis 
contented  traveler  :  "  When  you  have  seen  a 
•fine  forest,  a  bluff,  a  river,  and  a  lake  you  have 
seen  all  the  scenery  of  western  America. 
Sometimes  the  pine  is  three  hundred  feet  high, 
and  sometimes  the  rock  is,  and  sometimes  the 
iake  is  a  hundred  miles  long.  But  it's  all  the 
same,  don't  you  know.  I'm  getting  sick  of 
it."  I  dare  not  say  getting  sick.  I'm  only 
tired.  If  Providence  could  distribute  all  this 
beauty  in  little  bits  where  people  most  wanted 
it — among  you  in  India, — it  would  be  well. 
But  it  is  en  masse,  overwhelming,  with  nobody 
but  the  tobacco-chewing  captain  of  a  river 


n6  American  Notes 

steamboat  to  look  at  it.  Men  said  if  I  went 
to  Alaska  I  should  see  islands  even  more 
wooded,  snow-peaks  loftier,  and  rivers  more 
lovely  than  those  around  me.  That  decided 
me  not  to  go  to  Alaska.  I  went  east — east  to 
Montana,  after  another  horrible  night  in  Ta- 
coma  among  the  men  who  spat.  Why  does 
the  Westerner  spit  ?  It  can't  amuse  him,  and 
it  doesn't  interest  his  neighbor. 

But  I  am  beginning  to  mistrust.  Every* 
thing  good  as  well  as  everything  bad  is  sup 
posed  to  come  from  the  East.  Is  there  a 
shooting-scrape  between  prominent  citizens  ? 
Oh,  you'll  find  nothing  of  that  kind  in  the 
East.  Is  there  a  more  than  usually  revolting 
lynching  ?  They  don't  do  that  in  the  East. 
I  shall  find  out  when  I  get  there  whether  this 
unnatural  perfection  be  real. 

Eastward  then  to  Montana  I  took  my  way 
for  the  Yellowstone  National  Park,  called  in 
the  guide-books  "  Wonderland."  But  the  real 
Wonderland  began  in  the  train.  We  were  a 
merry  crew.  One  gentleman  announced  his 
intention  of  paying  no  fare  and  grappled  the 
conductor,  who  neatly  cross-buttocked  him 
through  a  double  plate-glass  window.  His 
head  was  cut  open  in  four  or  five  places.  A 
doctor  on  the  train  hastily  stitched  up  the 
biggest  gash,  and  he  was  dropped  at  a  way 
side  station,  spurting  blood  at  every  hair — a 
scarlet-headed  and  ghastly  sight.  The  con 
ductor  guessed  that  he  would  die,  and  volun* 


American  Notes  117 

teered  the  information  that  there  was  no  profit 
in  monkeying  with  the  North  Pacific  Railway. 

Night  was  falling  as  we  cleared  the  forests 
and  sailed  out  upon  a  wilderness  of  sage  brush. 
The  desolations  of  Montgomery,  the  wilderness 
of  Sind,  the  hummock-studded  desert  of  Bika- 
neer,  are  joyous  and  homelike  compared  to  the 
impoverished  misery  of  the  sage.  It  is  blue,  it 
is  stunted,  it  is  dusty.  It  wraps  the  rolling  hills 
as  a  mildewed  shroud  wrraps  the  body  of  a 
long-dead  man.  It  makes  you  weep  for  sheer 
loneliness,  and  there  is  no  getting  away  from 
it.  When  Childe  Roland  came  to  the  dark 
Tower  he  traversed  the  sage  brush. 

Yet  there  is  one  thing  worse  than  sage  un 
adulterated,  and  that  is  a  prairie  city.  We 
stopped  at  Pasco  Junction,  and  a  man  told  me 
that  it  was  the  Queen  City  of  the  Prairie.  I 
wish  Americans  didn't  tell  such  useless  lies.  I 
counted  fourteen  or  fifteen  frame-houses,  and 
a  portion  of  a  road  that  showed  like  a  bruise 
on  the  untouched  surface  of  the  blue  sage, 
running  away  and  away  up  to  the  setting  sun. 
The  sailor  sleeps  with  a  half-inch  plank  be 
tween  himself  and  death.  He  is  at  home  be 
side  the  handful  of  people  who  curl  themselves 
up  o'  nights  with  nothing  but  a  frail  scantling, 
almost  as  thin  as  a  blanket,  to  shut  out  the 
unmeasurable  loneliness  of  the  sage. 

When  the  train  stopped  on  the  road,  as  it 
did  once  or  twice,  the  solid  silence  of  the  sage 
got  up  and  shouted  at  us.  It  was  like  a 


1 1 8  American  Notes 

nightmare,  and  one  not  in  the  least  improved 
by  having  to  sleep  in  an  emigrant-car;  the 
regularly  ordained  sleepers  being  full.  There 
was  a  row  in  our  car  toward  morning,  a  man 
having  managed  to  get  querulously  drunk  in 
the  night.  Up  rose  a  Cornishman  with  a  red 
head  full  of  strategy,  and  strapped  the  obstre 
perous  one,  smiling  largely  as  he  did  so,  and 
a  delicate  little  woman  in  a  far  bunk  watched 
the  fray  and  called  the  drunken  man  a 
"  damned  hog,"  which  he  certainly  was, 
though  she  needn't  have  put  it  quite  so 
coarsely.  Emigrant  cars  are  clean,  but  the 
accommodation  is  as  hard  as  a  plank  bed. 
.  Later  we  laid  our  bones  down  to  crossing 
the  Rockies.  An  American  train  can  climb 
up  the  side  of  a  house  if  need  be,  but  it  is  not 
pleasant  to  sit  in  it.  We  clomb  till  we  struck 
violent  cold  and  an  Indian  reservation,  and 
the  noble  savage  came  to  look  at  us.  He  was 
a  Flathead  and  unlovely.  Most  Americans 
are  charmingly  frank  about  the  Indian.  "  Let 
us  get  rid  of  him  as  soon  as  possible,"  they 
say.  "  We  have  no  use  for  him."  Some  of 
the  men  I  meet  have  a  notion  that  we  in  India 
are  exterminating  the  native  in  the  same 
fashion,  and  I  have  been  asked  to  fix  a  date 
for  the  final  extinguishment  of  the  Aryan. 
I  answer  that  it  will  be  a  long  business. 
Very  many  Americans  have  an  offensive  habit 
of  referring  to  natives  as  "  heathen."  Ma 
hometans  and  Hindus  are  heathen  alike  in 


American  Notes  119 

their  eyes,  and  they  vary  the  epithet  with 
"  pagan  "  and  "  idolater."  But  this  is  beside 
the  matter,  which  is  the  Stampede  Tunnel— 
our  actual  point  of  crossing  the  Rockies. 
Thank  Heaven,  I  need  never  take  that  tunnel 
again  !  It  is  about  two  miles  long,  and  in 
effect  is  nothing  more  than  the  gallery  of  a 
mine  shored  with  timber  and  lighted  with 
electric  lamps.  Black  darkness  would  be  pref 
erable,  for  the  lamps  just  reveal  the  rough 
cutting  of  the  rocks,  and  that  is  very  rough  in 
deed.  The  train  crawls  through,  brakes  down, 
and  you  can  hear  the  water  and  little  bits  of 
stone  falling  on  the  roof  of  the  car.  Then- 
you  pray,  pray  fervently,  and  the  air  gets 
stiller  and  stiller,  and  you  dare  not  take  your 
unwilling  eyes  off  the  timber  shoring,  lest  a 
prop  should  fall,  for  lack  of  your  moral  sup 
port.  Before  the  tunnel  was  built  you  crossed 
in  the  open  air  by  a  switch-back  line.  A 
watchman  goes  through  the  tunnel  after  each 
train,  but  that  is  no  protection.  He  just 
guesses  that  another  train  will  pull  through,, 
and  the  engine-driver  guesses  the  same  thing. 
Some  day  between  the  two  of  them  there  wilt 
be  a  cave  in  the  tunnel.  Then  the  enterpris 
ing  reporter  will  talk  about  the  shrieks  and 
groans  of  the  buried  and  the  heroic  efforts  of 
the  Press  in  securing  first  information,  and — 
that  will  be  all.  Human  life  is  of  small  ac 
count  out  here. 

I  was  listening   to  yarns   in  the   smoking- 


J2o  American  Notes 

compartment  of  the  Pullman,  all  the  way  to 
Helena,  and  with  very  few  exceptions,  each 
had  for  its  point,  violent,  brutal,  and  ruffianly 
\  murder — murder  by  fraud  and  the  craft  of  the 
savage — murder  unavenged  by  the  law,  or  at 
the  most  by  an  outbreak  of  fresh  lawlessness. 
At  the  end  of  each  tale  I  was  assured  that  the 
old  days  had  passed  away,  and  that  these 
were  anecdotes  of  five  years'  standing.  One 
man  in  particular  distinguished  himself  by 
holding  up  to  admiration  the  exploits  of  some 
cowboys  of  his  acquaintance,  and  their  skill  in 
the  use  of  the  revolver.  Each  tale  of  horror 
wound  up  with  "  and  that's  the  sort  of  man  he 
was,"  as  who  should  say  :  "  Go  and  do  like 
wise."  Remember  that  the  shootings,  the 
cuttings,  and  the  stabbings  were  not  the  out 
come  of  any  species  of  legitimate  warfare ;  the 
heroes  were  not  forced  to  fight  for  their  lives. 
Far  from  it.  The  brawls  were  bred  by  liquor 
in  which  they  assisted — in  saloons  and  gam 
bling-hells  they  were  wont  to  "  pull  their  guns  " 
on  a  man,  and  in  the  vast  majority  of  cases 
without  provocation.  The  tales  sickened  me, 
but  taught  one  thing.  A  man  who  carries  a 
pistol  may  be  put  down  as  a  coward — a  person 
to  be  shut  out  from  every  decent  mess  and 
club,  and  gathering  of  civilized  folk.  There 
is  neither  chivalry  nor  romance  in  the  weaponj 
for  all  that  American  authors  have  seen  fit  t$ 
write.  I  would  I  could  make  you  understand 
the  full  measure  of  contempt  with  which  ce> 


American  Notes  121 

tain  aspects  of  Western  life  have  inspired  me, 
Let  us  try  a  comparison.  Sometimes  it  hap 
pens  that  a  young,  a  very  young,  man,  whose 
first  dress-coat  is  yet  glossy,  gets  slightly 
flushed  at  a  dinner-party  among  his  seniors. 
After  the  ladies  are  gone,  he  begins  to  talk, 
He  talks,  you  will  remember,  as  a  "  man  oi 
the  world  "  and  a  person  of  varied  experiences, 
an  authority  on  all  things  human  and  divine. 
The  gray  heads  of  the  elders  bow  assentingly 
to  his  wildest  statement ;  some  one  tries  to 
turn  the  conversation  when  what  the  youngster 
conceives  to  be  wit  has  offended  a  sensibility ; 
and  another  deftly  slides  the  decanters  beyond 
him  as  they  circle  round  the  table.  You  know 
the  feeling  of  discomfort — pity  mingled  with 
aversion — over  the  boy  who  is  making  an 
exhibition  of  himself.  The  same  emotion 
came  back  to  me,  when  an  old  man  who  ought 
to  have  known  better  appealed  from  time  to 
time  for  admiration  of  his  pitiful  sentiments. 
It  was  right  in  his  mind  to  insult,  to  maim,  and 
to  kill ;  right  to  evade  the  law  where  it  was 
strong  and  to  trample  over  it  where  it  was 
weak;  right  to  swindle  in  politics,  to  lie  in 
affairs  of  State,  and  commit  perjury  in  matters 
of  municipal  administration.  The  car  was 
full  of  little  children,  utterly  regardless  of  their 
parents,  fretful,  peevish,  spoilt  beyond  any* 
thing  I  have  ever  seen  in  Anglo-India.  They 
in  time  would  grow  up  into  men  such  as  sat  irt 
the  smoker,  and  had  no  regard  for  the  law, 


122  American  Notes 

men  who  would  conduct  papers  siding  "  with 
defiance  of  any  and  every  law."  But  it's  of 
no  consequence,  as  Mr.  Toots  says. 

During  the  descent  of  the  Rockies  we  jour 
neyed  for  a  season  on  a  trestle  only  two  hun 
dred  and  eighty-six  feet  high.  It  was  made  of 
iron,  but  up  till  two  years  ago  a  wooden  struc 
ture  bore  up  the  train,  and  was  used  long  after 
it  had  been  condemned  by  the  civil  engineers. 
Some  day  the  iron  one  will  come  down,  just 
as  Stampede  Tunnel  will,  and  the  results  will 
be  even  more  startling. 

Late  in  the  night  we  ran  over  a  skunk — 
ran  over  it  in  the  dark.  Everything  that  has 
been  said  about  the  skunk  is  true.  It  is  an 
Awesome  Stink. 


American  Notes  123 


VIII. 

LIVINGSTONE  is  a  town  of  two  thousand 
people,  and  the  junction  for  the  little  side-line 
that  takes  you  to  the  Yellowstone  National 
Park.  It  lies  in  a  fold  of  the  prairie,  and  be 
hind  it  is  the  Yellowstone  River  and  the  gate 
of  the  mountains  through  which  the  river 
flows.  There  is  one  street  in  the  town,  where 
the  cowboy's  pony  and  the  little  foal  of  the 
brood-mare  in  the  buggy  rest  contentedly  ire 
the  blinding  sunshine  while  the  cowboy  gets 
himself  shaved  at  the  only  other  barber's  shop, 
and  swaps  lies  at  the  bar.  I  exhausted  the 
town,  including  the  saloons,  in  ten  minutes, 
and  got  away  on  the  rolling  grass  downs  where 
I  threw  myself  to  rest.  Directly  under  the 
hill  I  was  on,  swept  a  drove  of  horses  in  charge 
of  two  mounted  men.  That  was  a  picture  I 
shall  not  soon  forget.  A  light  haze  of  dust 
went  up  from  the  hoof-trodden  green,  scarcely 
veiling  the  unfettered  deviltries  of  three  hun 
dred  horses  who  very  much  wanted  to  stop 
and  graze.  "  Yow  1  Yow !  Yow !  "  yapped 
the  mounted  men  in  chorus  like  coyotes.  The 
column  moved  forward  at  a  trot,  divided  as  it 
met  a  hillock  and  scattered  into  fan  shape  att 
among  the  suburbs  of  Livingstone,  I  heard 
the  "  snick  "  of  a  stock  whip,  half  a  dozer* 


124  American  Notes 

"  Yow,  yows,"  and  the  mob  had  come  together 
again,  and,  with  neighing  and  wickering  and 
squealing  and  a  great  deal  of  kicking  on  the 
part  of  the  youngsters,  rolled  like  a  wave  of 
brown  water  toward  the  uplands. 

I  was  within  twenty  feet  of  the  leader,  a 
gray  stallion  —  lord  of  many  brood-mares 
all  deeply  concerned  for  the  welfare  of  their 
fuzzy  foals.  A  cream-colored  beast — I  knew 
him  at  once  for  the  bad  character  of  the 
troop — broke  back,  taking  with  him  some 
frivolous  fillies.  I  heard  the  snick  of  the 
whips  somewhere  in  the  dust,  and  the  fillies 
came  back  at  a  canter,  very  shocked  and  in 
dignant.  On  the  heels  of  the  last  rode  both 
the  stockmen  —  picturesque  ruffians  who 
wanted  to  know  "  what  in  hell "  I  was  doing 
there,  waved  their  hats,  ard  swept  down  the 
slope  after  their  charges.  When  the  noise  of 
the  troop  had  died  ther*  came  a  wonderful 
silence  on  all  the  prairie — that  silence,  they 
say,  which  enters  into  the  heart  of  the  old- 
time  hunter  and  trapper  and  marks  him  off 
from  the  rest  of  his  race.  The  town  disap 
peared  in  the  darkness,  and  a  very  young 
moon  showed  herself  over  a  bald-headed, 
snow-flecked  peak.  Then  the  Yellowstone, 
hidden  by  the  water-willows,  lifted  up  its  voice 
and  sang  a  little  song  to  the  mountains,  and 
an  pld  horse  that  had  crept  up  in  the  dusk 
breathed  inquiringly  on  the  back  of  my  neck. 
When  I  reached  the  hotel  I  found  all  manner 


American  Notes  125 

of  preparation  under  way  for  the  4th  of  July, 
and  a  drunken  man  with  a  Winchester  rifle 
over  his  shoulder  patrolling  the  sidewalk.  I 
do  not  think  he  wanted  any  one.  He  carried 
the  gun  as  other  folk  carry  walking-sticks*. 
None  the  less  I  avoided  the  direct  line  of  fire 
and  listened  to  the  blasphemies  of  miners  and 
stockmen  till  far  into  the  night.  In  every 
bar-room  lay  a  copy  of  the  local  paper,  and 
every  copy  impressed  it  upon  the  inhabitants 
of  Livingstone  that  they  were  the  best,  finest,, 
bravest,  richest,  and  most  progressive  town  of 
the  most  progressive  nation  under  Heaven  ; 
even  as  the  Tacoma  and  Portland  papers  had 
belauded  their  readers.  And  yet,  all  my  pur 
blind  eyes  could  see  was  a  grubby  little  hamlet 
full  of  men  without  clean  collars  and  perfectly 
unable  to  get  through  one  sentence  unadorned 
by  three  oaths.  They  raise  horses  and  min 
erals  round  and  about  Livingstone,  but  they 
behave  as  though  they  raised  cherubims  with 
diamonds  in  their  wings. 

From  Livingstone  the  National  Park  train 
follows  the  Yellowstone  River  through  the 
gate  of  the  mountains  and  over  arid  volcanic 
country.  A  stranger  in  the  cars  saw  me  look 
at  the  ideal  trout-stream  below  the  windows 
and  murmured  softly :  "  Lie  off  at  Yankee 
Jim's  if  you  want  good  fishing."  They  halted 
the  train  at  the  head  of  a  narrow  valley,  and  I 
leaped  literally  into  the  arms  of  Yankee  Jirn, 
sole  owner  of  a  log  hut  and  an  indefinite 


126  American  Notes 

amount  of  hay-ground,  and  constructor  of 
twenty-seven  miles  of  wagon-road  over  which 
he  held  toll  right.  There  was  the  hut — the 
river  fifty  yards  away,  and  the  polished  line  of 
metals  that  disappeared  round  a  bluff.  That 
was  all.  The  railway  added  the  finishing 
touch  to  the  already  complete  loneliness  of 
the  place.  Yankee  Jim  was  a  picturesque  old 
man  with  a  talent  for  yarns  that  Annanias 
might  have  envied.  It  seemed  to  me,  pre 
sumptuous  in  my  ignorance,  that  I  might 
hold  my  own  with  the  old-timer  if  I  judi 
ciously  painted  up  a  few  lies  gathered  in  the 
course  of  my  wanderings.  Yankee  Jim  saw 
every  one  of  my  tales  and  went  fifty  better  on 
the  spot.  He  dealt  in  bears  and  Indians — 
never  less  than  twenty  of  each ;  had  known 
the  Yellowstone  country  for  years^  and  bore 
upon  his  body  marks  of  Indian  arrows ;  and 
his  eyes  had  seen  a  squaw  of  the  Crow 
Indians  burned  alive  at  the  stake.  He  said 
she  screamed  considerable.  In  one  point  did 
he  speak  the  truth — as  regarded  the  merits  of 
that  particular  reach  of  the  Yellowstone.  He 
said  it  was  alive  with  trout.  It  was.  I  fished 
it  from  noon  till  twilight,  and  the  fish  bit  at 
the  brown  hook  as  though  never  a  fat  trout- 
fly  had  fallen  on  the  water.  From  pebbly 
reaches,  quivering  in  the  heat-haze  where  the 
ioot  caught  on  stumps  cut  four-square  by 
the  chisel-tooth  of  the  beaver ;  past  the  fringe 
•of  the  water-willow  crowded  with  the  breeding 


American  Notes  127 

trout-fly  and  alive  with  toads  and  water- 
snakes  ;  over  the  drifted  timber  to  the  grate 
ful  shadow  of  big  trees  that  darkened  the 
holes  where  the  fattest  fish  lay,  I  worked  for 
seven  hours.  The  mountain  flanks  on  either 
side  of  the  valley  gave  back  the  heat  as  the 
desert  gives  it,  and  the  dry  sand  by  the  rail 
way  track,  where  I  found  a  rattlesnake,  was 
hot-iron  to  the  touch.  But  the  trout  did  not 
care  for  the  heat.  They  breasted  the  boiling 
river  for  my  fly  and  they  got  it.  I  simply 
dare  not  give  my  bag.  At  the  fortieth  trout 
I  gave  up  counting,  and  I  had  reached  the 
fortieth  in  less  than  two  hours.  They  were 
small  fish, — not  one  over  two  pounds, — but 
they  fought  like  small  tigers,  and  I  lost  three 
flies  before  I  could  understand  their  methods 
of  escape.  Ye  gods  1  That  was  fishing, 
though  it  peeled  the  skin  from  my  nose  in 
strips. 

At  twilight  Yankee  Jim  bore  me  off,  pro 
testing,  to  supper  in  the  hut.  The  fish  had 
prepared  me  for  any  surprise,  wherefore  when 
Yankee  Jim  introduced  me  to  a  young  woman 
of  five-and-twenty,  with  eyes  like  the  deep- 
fringed  eyes  of  the  gazelle,  and  "  on  the  neck 
the  small  head  buoyant,  like  a  bell-flower  in 
its  bed,"  I  said  nothing.  It  was  all  in  the 
day's  events.  She  was  California-raised,  the 
wife  of  a  man  who  owned  a  stock-farm  "  up 
the  river  a  little  ways,"  and,  with  her  husband, 
tenant  of  Yankee  Jim's  shanty.  I  know  she 


128  American  Notes 

wore  list  slippers,  and  did  not  wear  stays ; 
but  I  know  also  that  she  was  beautiful  by  any 
standard  of  beauty,  and  that  the  trout  she 
cooked  were  fit  for  a  king's  supper.  And 
after  supper  strange  men  loafed  up  in  the  dim 
delicious  twilight,  with  the  little  news  of  the 
day — how  a  heifer  had  "gone  strayed"  from 
Nicholson's  ;  how  the  widow  at  Grant's  Fork 
wouldn't  part  with  a  little  hayland  nohow, 
though  "  she  an'  her  big  brothers  can't  man 
age  more  than  ha-af  of  their  land  now.  She's 
so  darned  proud."  Diana  of  the  Crossways 
entertained  them  in  queenly  wise,  and  her 
husband  and  Yankee  Jim  bade  them  sit  right 
down  and  make  themselves  at  home.  Then  did 
Yankee  Jim  uncurl  his  choicest  lies  on  Indian 
warfare  aforetime ;  then  did  the  whisky-flask 
circle  round  the  little  crowd ;  then  did  Diana's 
husband  'low  that  he  was  quite  handy  with  the 
lariat,  but  had  seen  men  rope  a  steer  by  any 
foot  or  horn  indicated  ;  then  did  Diana  un 
burden  herself  about  her  neighbors.  The 
nearest  house  was  three  miles  away,  "  but  the 
women  aren't  nice,  neighborly  folk.  They 
talk  so.  They  haven't  got  anything  else  to 
do,  seemingly.  If  a  woman  goes  to  a  dance 
and  has  a  good  time,  they  talk,  and  if  she 
wears  a  silk  dress,  they  want  to  know  how 
jest  ranchin'  folks — folk  on  a  ranche — come 
by  such  things ;  and  they  make  mischief 
down  all  the  lands  here  from  Gardiner  City 
way  back  up  to  Livingstone.  They're  mostly 


American  Notes  129 

Montana  raised,  and  they  haven't  been  no- 
wheres.  Ah,  how  they  talk  !  "  "  Were  things 
like  this,"  demanded  Diana,  "  in  the  big  world 
outside,  whence  I  had  come  ?  "  "  Yes,"  I 
said,  "  things  were  very  much  the  same  all 
over  the  world,"  and  I  thought  of  a  far-away 
station  in  India,  where  new  dresses  and  the 
having  of  good  times  at  dances  raised  cackle 
more  grammatical  perhaps,  but  no  less  veno 
mous  than  the  gossip  of  the  "  Montana-raised  " 
folk  on  the  ranches  of  the  Yellowstone. 

Next  morn  I  fished  again  and  listened  to 
Diana  telling  the  story  of  her  life.  I  forget 
what  she  told  me,  but  I  am  distinctly  aware 
that  she  had  royal  eyes  and  a  mouth  that  the 
daughter  of  a  hundred  earls  might  have  envied 
— so  small  and  so  delicately  cut  it  was.  "  An' 
you  come  back  an'  see  us  again,"  said  the 
simple-minded  folk.  "  Come  back  an'  we'll 
show  you  how  to  catch  six-pound  trout  at  the 
head  of  the  canon." 

To-day  I  am  in  the  Yellowstone  Park,  and  I 
wish  I  were  dead.  The  train  halted  at  Cin 
nabar  station,  and  we  were  decanted,  a  howl 
ing  crowd  of  us,  into  stages,  variously  horsed, 
for  the  eight-mile  drive  to  the  first  spectacle  of 
the  Park — a  place  called  the  Mammoth  Hot 
Springs.  "  What  means  this  eager,  anxious 
throng  ?  "  I  asked  the  driver.  "  You've  struck 
one  of  Rayment's  excursion  parties — that's 
all — a  crowd  of  creator-condemned  fools 
mostly.  Aren't  you  one  of  'em  ?  "  "  No,"  I 
9 


130  American  Notes 

said.  "  May  I  sit  up  here  with  you,  great  chief 
and  man  with  a  golden  tongue  ?  I  do  not 
know  Mister  Rayment.  I  belong  to  T.  Cook 
and  Son."  The  other  person,  from  the  quality 
of  the  material  he  handles,  must  be  the  son 
of  a  sea-cook.  He  collects  masses  of  Down- 
Easters  from  the  New  England  States  and 
elsewhere  and  hurls  them  across  the  Continent 
and  into  the  Yellowstone  Park  on  tour.  A 
brake-load  of  Cook's  Continental  tourists  tra- 
pezing  through  Paris  (I've  seen  'em)  are  angels 
of  light  compared  to  the  Rayment  trippers. 
It  is  not  the  ghastly  vulgarity,  the  oozing, 
rampant  Bessemer-steel  self-sufficiency  and 
ignorance  of  the  men  that  revolts  me,  so  much 
as  the  display  of  these  same  qualities  in  the 
women-folk.  I  saw  a  new  type  in  the  coach, 
and  all  my  dreams  of  a  better  and  more  per 
fect  East  died  away.  "  Are  these — um — per 
sons  here  any  sort  of  persons  in  their  own 
places  ?  "  I  asked  a  shepherd  wrho  appeared 
to  be  herding  them. 

"  Why,  certainly.  They  include  very  many 
prominent  and  representative  citizens  from 
seven  States  of  the  Union,  and  most  of  them 
are  wealthy.  Yes,  sir.  Representative  and 
prominent." 

We  ran  across  bare  hills  on  an  unmetaled 
road  under  a  burning  sun  in  front  of  a  volley 
of  playful  repartee  from  the  prominent  citizens 
inside.  It  was  the  4th  of  July.  The  horses 
had  American  flags  in  their  headstalls,  some 


American  Notes  131 

of  the  women  wore  flags  and  colored  hand 
kerchiefs  in  their  belts,  and  a  young  German 
on  the  box-seat  with  me  was  bewailing  the  loss 
of  a  box  of  crackers.  He  said  he  had  been 
sent  to  the  Continent  to  get  his  schooling  and  so 
had  lost  his  American  accent;  but  no  Conti 
nental  schooling  writes  German  Jew  all  over  a 
man's  face  and  nose.  He  was  a  rabid  American 
citizen — one  of  a  very  difficult  class  to  deal 
with.  As  a  general  rule,  praise  unsparingly, 
and  without  discrimination.  That  keeps  most 
men  quiet ;  but  some,  if  you  fail  to  keep  up  a 
continuous  stream  of  praise,  proceed  to  revile 
the  Old  Country — Germans  and  Irish  who 
are  more  Americans  than  the  Americans  are 
the  chief  offenders.  This  young  American 
began  to  attack  the  English  army.  He  had 
seen  some  of  it  on  parade  and  he  pitied  the 
men  in  bearskins  as  "  slaves."  The  citizen, 
by  the  way,  has  a  contempt  for  his  own  army 
which  exceeds  anything  you  meet  among  the 
most  illiberal  classes  in  England.  I  admitted 
that  our  army  was  very  poor,  had  done  noth 
ing,  and  had  been  nowhere.  This  exasper 
ated  him,  for  he  expected  an  argument,  and 
he  trampled  on  the  British  Lion  generally. 
Failing  to  move  me,  he  vowed  that  I  had  no 
patriotism  like  his  own.  I  said  I  had  not,  and 
further  ventured  that  very  few  Englishmen 
had  ;  which,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  is 
quite  true.  By  the  time  he  had  proved  con 
clusively  that  before  the  Prince  of  Wales  camf 


132  American  Notes 

to  the  throne  we  should  be  a  blethering  re 
public,  we  struck  a  road  that  overhung  a  river, 
and  my  interest  in  "  politics  "  was  lost  in  ad 
miration  of  the  driver's  skill  as  he  sent  his 
four  big  horses  along  that  winding  road. 
There  was  no  room  for  any  sort  of  accident — 
a  shy  or  a  swerve  would  have  dropped  us 
sixty  feet  into  the  roaring  Gardiner  River. 
Some  of  the  persons  in  the  coach  remarked 
that  the  scenery  was  "  elegant."  Wherefore, 
even  at  the  risk  of  my  own  life,  I  did  urgently 
desire  an  accident  and  the  massacre  of  some 
of  the  more  prominent  citizens.  What  "  ele 
gance  "  lies  in  a  thousand-foot  pile  of  honey- 
colored  rock,  riven  into  peak  and  battlement, 
the  highest  peak  defiantly  crowned  by  an 
eagle's  nest,  the  eaglet  peering  into  the  gulf 
and  screaming  for  his  food,  I  could  not  for 
the  life  of  me  understand.  But  they  speak  a 
strange  tongue. 

En  route  we  passed  other  carriages  full  of 
trippers,  who  had  done  their  appointed  five 
days  in  the  Park,  and  yelped  at  us  fraternally 
as  they  disappeared  in  clouds  of  red  dust 
When  we  struck  the  Mammoth  Hot  Spring 
Hotel — a  huge  yellow  barn — a  sign-board  in 
formed  us  that  the  altitude  was  six  thousand 
two  hundred  feet.  The  Park  is  just  a  howling 
wilderness  of  three  thousand  square  miles, 
full  of  all  imaginable  freaks  of  a  fiery  nature. 
An  hotel  company,  assisted  by  the  Secretary 
of  State  for  the  Interior,  appears  to  control  it; 


American  Notes  133 

there  are  hotels  at  all  the  points  of  interest, 
guide-books,  stalls  for  the  sale  of  minerals,  and 
so  forth,  after  the  model  of  Swiss  summer 
places. 

The  tourists — may  their  master  die  an  evil 
death  at  the  hand  of  a  mad  locomotive ! — 
poured  into  that  place  with  a  joyful  whoop, 
and,  scarce  washing  the  dust  from  themselves, 
began  to  celebrate  the  4th  of  July.  They 
called  it  "  patriotic  exercises " ;  elected  a 
clergyman  of  their  own  faith  as  president,  and, 
sitting  on  the  landing  of  the  first  floor,  began 
to  make  speeches  and  read  the  Declaration  of 
Independence.  The  clergyman  rose  up  and 
told  them  they  were  the  greatest,  freest,  sub- 
limest,  most  chivalrous,  and  richest  people  on 
the  face  of  the  earth,  and  they  all  said  Amen. 
Another  clergyman  asserted  in  the  words  of 
the  Declaration  that  all  men  were  created 
equal,  and  equally  entitled  to  Life,  Liberty, 
and  the  pursuit  of  Happiness.  I  should  like 
to  know  whether  the  wild  and  woolly  West 
recognizes  this  first  right  as  freely  as  the 
grantors  intended.  The  clergyman  then  bade 
the  world  note  that  the  tourists  included  rep 
resentatives  of  seven  of  the  New  England 
States;  whereat  I  felt  deeply  sorry  for  the 
New  England  States  in  their  latter  days.  He 
opined  that  this  running  to  and  fro  upon  the 
earth,  under  the  auspices  of  the  excellent 
Rayment,  would  draw  America  more  closely 
together,  especially  when  the  Westerners  re- 


134  American  Notes 

membered  the  perils  that  they  of  the  East  had 
surmounted  by  rail  and  river.  At  duly  ap 
pointed  intervals  the  congregation  sang  "  My 
country,  'tis  of  thee  "  to  the  tune  of  "  God 
save  the  Queen  "  (here  they  did  not  stand  up), 
and  the  "  Star-Spangled  Banner  "  (here  they 
did),  winding  up  the  exercise  with  some  dog- 
grel  of  their  own  composition  to  the  tune  of 
"John  Brown's  body,"  movingly  setting  forth 
the  perils  before  alluded  to.  They  then  ad 
journed  to  the  verandas  and  watched  fire 
crackers  of  the  feeblest,  exploding  one  by  one, 
for  several  hours. 

What  amazed  me  was  the  calm  with  which 
these  folks  gathered  together  and  commenced 
to  belaud  their  noble  selves,  their  country, 
and  their  "  institootions  "  and  everything  else 
that  was  theirs.  The  language  was,  to  these 
bewildered  ears,  wild  advertisement,  gas, 
bunkum,  blow,  anything  you  please  beyond 
the  bounds  of  common  sense.  An  archangel, 
selling  town-lots  on  the  Glassy  Sea,  would 
have  blushed  to  the  tips  of  his  wings  to  de 
scribe  his  property  in  similar  terms.  Then 
they  gathered  round  the  pastor  and  told  him 
his  little  sermon  was  "  perfectly  glorious," 
really  grand,  sublime,  and  so  forth,  and  he 
bridled  ecclesiastically.  At  the  end  a  per 
fectly  unknown  man  attacked  me  and  asked 
me  what  I  thought  of  American  patriotism.  I 
said  there  was  nothing  like  it  in  the  Old 
Country.  By  the  way,  always  tell  an  Ameri 
can  this.  It  soothes  him. 


American  Notes  135 

Then  said  he :  "  Are  you  going  to  get  out 
your  letters — your  letters  of  naturalization  ?  " 

«  Why  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  presoom  you  do  business  in  this  coun 
try,  and  make  money  out  of  it, — and  it  seems 
to  me  that  it  would  be  your  dooty." 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  sweetly,  "  there  is  a  forgot 
ten  little  isle  across  the  seas  called  England. 
It  is  not  much  bigger  than  the  Yellowstone 
Park.  In  that  island  a  man  of  your  country 
could  work,  marry,  make  his  fortune  or 
twenty  fortunes,  and  die.  Throughout  his 
career  not  one  soul  would  ask  him  whether 
he  were  a  British  subject  or  a  child  of  the 
Devil.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

I  think  he  did,  because  he  said  something 
about  "  Britishers "  which  wasn't  compli 
mentary. 


136  American  Notes 


IX. 

"  That  desolate  land  and  lone 
Where  the  Big  Horn  and  Yellowstone 
Roar  down  their  mountain  path." 

TWICE  have  I  written  this  letter  from  end 
to  end.  Twice  have  I  torn  it  up,  fearing  lest 
those  across  the  water  should  say  that  I  had 
gone  mad  on  a  sudden.  Now  we  will  begin 
for  the  third  time  quite  solemnly  and  soberly. 
I  have  been  through  the  Yellowstone  National 
Park  in  a  buggy,  in  the  company  of  an  ad 
venturous  old  lady  from  Chicago  and  her 
husband,  who  disapproved  of  scenery  as  being 
"  ongodly."  I  fancy  it  scared  them. 

We  began,  as  you  know,  with  the  Mam 
moth  Hot  Springs.  They  are  only  a  gigantic 
edition  of  those  pink  and  white  terraces  not 
long  ago  destroyed  by  earthquake  in  New 
Zealand.  At  one  end  of  the  little  valley  in 
which  the  hotel  stands  the  lime-laden  springs 
that  break  from  the  pine-covered  hillsides 
have  formed  a  frozen  cataract  of  white,  lemon, 
and  palest  pink  formation,  through  and  over 
and  in  which  water  of  the  warmest  bubbles 
and  drips  and  trickles  from  pale-green  lagoon 
to  exquisitely  fretted  basin.  The  ground 
rings  hollow  as  a  kerosene-tin,  and  some  day 
the  Mammoth  Hotel,  guests  and  all,  will  sink 


American  Notes  137 

into  the  caverns  below  and  be  turned  into  a 
stalactite.  When  I  set  foot  on  the  first  of 
the  terraces,  a  tourist-trampled  ramp  of  scabby 
gray  stuff,  I  met  a  stream  of  iron-red  hot 
water  which  ducked  into  a  hole  like  a  rabbit. 
Followed  a  gentle  chuckle  of  laughter,  and 
then  a  deep,  exhausted  sigh  from  nowhere  in 
particular.  Fifty  feet  above  my  head  a  jet  of 
stream  rose  up  and  died  out  in  the  blue.  It  was 
worse  than  the  boiling  mountain  at  Myano- 
shita.  The  dirty  white  deposit  gave  place  to 
lime  whiter  than  snow ;  and  I  found  a  basin 
which  some  learned  hotel-keeper  has  christ 
ened  Cleopatra's  pitcher,  or  Mark  Antony's 
whisky-jug,  or  something  equally  poetical. 
It  was  made  of  frosted  silver ;  it  was  filled 
with  water  as  clear  as  the  sky.  I  do  not 
know  the  depth  of  that  wonder.  The  eye 
looked  down  beyond  grottoes  and  caves  of 
beryl  into  an  abyss  that  communicated  directly 
with  the  central  fires  of  earth.  And  the  pool 
was  in  pain,  so  that  it  could  not  refrain  from 
talking  about  it;  muttering  and  chattering 
and  moaning.  From  the  lips  of  the  lime- 
ledges,  forty  feet  under  water,  spurts  of  silver 
bubbles  would  fly  up  and  break  the  peace  of 
the  crystal  atop.  Then  the  whole  pool  would 
shake  and  grow  dim,  and  there  were  noises. 
I  removed  myself  only  to  find  other  pools 
all  equally  unhappy,  rifts  in  the  ground,  full 
of  running,  red-hot  water,  slippery  sheets  of 
deposit  overlaid  with  greenish  gray  hot  water, 


138  American  Notes 

and  here  and  there  pit-holes  dry  as  a  rifled 
tomb  in  India,  dusty  and  waterless.  Else 
where  the  infernal  waters  had  first  boiled  dead 
and  then  embalmed  the  pines  and  under 
wood,  or  the  forest  trees  had  taken  heart  and 
smothered  up  a  blind  formation  with  green- 
ery,  so  that  it  was  only  by  scraping  the  earth 
you  could  tell  what  fires  had  raged  beneath. 
Yet  the  pines  will  win  the  battle  in  years  to 
come,  because  Nature,  who  first  forges  all 
her  work  in  her  great  smithies,  has  nearly- 
finished  this  job,  and  is  ready  to  temper  it  in 
the  soft  brown  earth.  The  fires  are  dying 
down  ;  the  hotel  is  built  where  terraces  have 
overflowed  into  flat  wastes  of  deposits ;  the 
pines  have  taken  possession  of  the  high 
ground  whence  the  terraces  first  started. 
Only  the  actual  curve  of  the  cataract  stands 
clear,  and  it  is  guarded  by  soldiers  who  patrol 
it  with  loaded  six-shooters,  in  order  that  the 
tourist  may  not  bring  up  fence-rails  and  sink 
them  in  a  pool,  or  chip  the  fretted  tracery  of 
the  formations  with  a  geological  hammer,  or, 
walking  where  the  crust  is  too  thin,  foolishly 
cook  himself. 

I  maneuvered  round  those  soldiers.  They 
were  cavalry  in  a  very  slovenly  uniform,  dark- 
blue  blouse,  and  light-blue  trousers  unstrapped, 
cut  spoon-shape  over  the  boot;  cartridge 
belt,  revolver,  peaked  cap,  and  worsted  gloves 
— black  buttons  !  By  the  mercy  of  Allah  I 
opened  conversation  with  a  spectacled  Scot- 


American  Notes  139 

He  had  served  the  Queen  in  the  Marines  and 
a  Line  regiment,  and  the  "  go-fever  "  being  in 
his  bones,  had  drifted  to  America,  there  to 
serve  Uncle  Sam.  We  sat  on  the  edge  of  an 
extinct  little  pool,  that  under  happier  circum 
stances  would  have  grown  into  a  geyser,  and 
began  to  discuss  things  generally.  To  us 
appeared  yet  another  soldier.  No  need  to  ask 
his  nationality  or  to  be  told  that  the  troop 
called  him  "  The  Henglishman."  A  cockney 
was  he,  who  had  seen  something  of  warfare  in 
Egypt,  and  had  taken  his  discharge  from  a 
Fusilier  regiment  not  unknown  to  you. 

"  And  how  do  things  go  ? " 

"  Very  much  as  you  please,"  said  they. 
"  There's  not  half  the  discipline  here  that 
there  is  in  the  Queen's  service — not  half — nor 
the  work  either,  but  what  there  is,  is  rough 
work.  Why,  there's  a  sergeant  now  with  » 
black  eye  that  one  of  our  men  gave  him* 
They  won't  say  anything  about  that,  of  course. 
Our  punishments  ?  Fines  mostly,  and  then  if 
you  carry  on  too  much  you  go  to  the  cooler — 
that's  the  clink.  Yes,  Sir.  Horses  ?  Oh, 
they're  devils,  these  Montana  horses.  Bron 
chos  mostly.  We  don't  slick  'em  up  for 
parade — not  much.  And  the  amount  of 
schooling  that  you  put  into  one  English  troop- 
horse  would  be  enough  for  a  whole  squadron 
of  these  creatures.  You'll  meet  more  troopers 
further  up  the  Park.  Go  and  look  at  their 
horses  and  their  turnouts.  I  fancy  it'll  startle 


140  American  Notes 

you.  I'm  wearing  a  made  tie  and  a  breastpin 
under  my  blouse  ?  Of  course  I  am  !  I  can 
wear  anything  I  darn  please.  We  aren't  par 
ticular  here.  I  shouldn't  dare  come  on  parade 
— no,  nor  yet  fatigue  duty — in  this  condition 
in  the  Old  Country  ;  but  it  don't  matter  here. 
But  don't  you  forget,  Sir,  that  it's  taught  me 
how  to  trust  to  myself,  and  my  shooting  irons. 
I  don't  want  fifty  orders  to  move  me  across 
the  Park,  and  catch  a  poacher.  Yes,  they 
poach  here.  Men  come  in  with  an  outfit  and 
ponies,  smuggle  in  a  gun  or  two,  and  shoot 
the  bison.  If  you  interfere,  they  shoot  at 
you.  Then  you  confiscate  all  their  outfit  and 
their  ponies.  We  have  a  pound  full  of  them 
now  down  below.  There's  our  Captain  over 
yonder.  Speak  to  him  if  you  want  to  know 
anything  special.  This  service  isn't  a  patch 
on  the  Old  Country's  service  ;  but  you  look,  if 
it  was  worked  up  it  would  be  just  a  Hell  of  a 
service.  But  these  citizens  despise  us,  and 
they  put  us  on  to  road-mending,  and  such  like. 
'Nough  to  ruin  any  army." 

To  the  Captain  I  addressed  myself  after  my 
friends  had  gone.  They  told  me  that  a  good 
many  American  officers  dressed  by  the  French 
army.  The  Captain  certainly  might  have  been 
mistaken  for  a  French  officer  of  light  cavalry, 
and  he  had  more  than  the  courtesy  of  a 
Frenchman.  Yes,  he  had  read  a  good  deal 
about  our  Indian  border  warfare,  and  had 
been  much  struck  with  the  likeness  it  bore  to 


American  Notes  141 

Red  Indian  warfare.  I  had  better,  when  \ 
reached  the  next  cavalry  post,  scattered  be 
tween  two  big  geyser  basins,  introduce  myself  to 
a  Captain  and  Lieutenant.  They  could  show 
me  things.  He  himself  was  devoting  all  his 
time  to  conserving  the  terraces,  and  surrep 
titiously  running  hot  water  into  dried-up  basins 
that  fresh  pools  might  form.  "  I  get  very  in 
terested  in  that  sort  of  thing.  It's  not  duty, 
but  it's  what  I'm  put  here  for."  And  then  he 
began  to  talk  of  his  troop  as  I  have  heard  his 
brethren  in  India  talk.  Such  a  troop  !  Built 
up  carefully,  and  watched  lovingly  :  "not  a 
man  that  I'd  wish  to  exchange,  and,  what's 
more,  I  believe  not  a  man  that  would  wish  to 
leave  on  his  own  account.  We're  different,  I 
believe,  from  the  English.  Your  officers  value 
the  horses  ;  we  set  store  on  the  men.  We 
train  them  more  than  we  do  the  horses." 

Of  the  American  trooper  I  will  tell  you 
more  hereafter.  He  is  not  a  gentleman  to  be 
trifled  with. 

Next  dawning,  entering  a  buggy  of  fragile 
construction,  with  the  old  people  from  Chicago, 
I  embarked  on  my  perilous  career.  We  ran 
straight  up  a  mountain  till  we  could  see,  sixty 
miles  away,  the  white  houses  of  Cook  City  on 
another  mountain,  and  the  whiplash-like  trail 
leading  thereto.  The  live  air  made  me  drunk. 
If  Tom,  the  driver,  had  proposed  to  send  the 
mares  in  a  bee-line  to  the  city,  I  should  have 
assented,  and  so  would  the  old  lady,  who 


142  American  Notes 

dhewed  gum  and  talked  about  her  symptoms. 
The  tub-ended  rock-dog,  which  is  but  the 
translated  prairie-dog,  broke  across  the  road 
under  our  horses'  feet,  the  rabbet  and  the  chip 
munk  danced  with  fright  ;  we  heard  the  roar 
of  the  river,  and  the  road  went  round  a  corner. 
On  one  side  piled  rock  and  shale,  that  en 
joined  silence  for  fear  of  a  general  slide-down  ; 
on  the  other  a  sheer  drop,  and  a  fool  of  a  noisy 
river  below.  Then,  apparently  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  lest  any  should  find  driving  too 
easy,  a  post  of  rock.  Nothing  beyond  that 
save  the  flank  of  a  cliff.  Then  my  stomach 
departed  from  me,  as  it  does  when  you  swing, 
for  we  left  the  dirt,  which  was  at  least  some 
guarantee  of  safety,  and  sailed  out  round  the 
curve,  and  up  a  steep  incline,  on  a  plank-road 
built  out  from  the  cliff.  The  planks  were 
nailed  at  the  outer  edge,  and  did  not  shift  or 
creak  very  much — but  enough,  quite  enough. 
That  was  the  Golden  Gate.  I  got  my  stomach 
back  again  when  we  trotted  out  on  to  a  vast 
upland  adorned  with  a  lake  and  hills.  Have 
you  ever  seen  an  untouched  land — the  face  o£ 
virgin  Nature  ?  It  is  rather  a  curious  sight, 
because  the  hills  are  choked  with  timber  that 
has  never  known  an  ax,  and  the  storm  has 
rent  a  way  through  this  timber,  so  that  a  hun 
dred  thousand  trees  lie  matted  together  in 
swathes  ;  and,  since  each  tree  lies  where  it 
falls,  you  may  behold  trunk  and  branch  return- 
ing  to  the  earth  whence  they  sprang — exactly 


American  Notes  143 

as  the  body  of  man  returns — each  limb  making 
its  own  little  grave,  the  grass  climbing  above 
the  bark,  till  at  last  there  remains  only  the 
outline  of  a  tree  upon  the  rank  undergrowth. 

Then  we  drove  under  a  cliff  of  obsidian, 
which  is  black  glass,  some  two  hundred  feet 
high ;  and  the  road  at  its  foot  was  made  of 
black  glass  that  crackled.  This  was  no  great 
matter,  because  half  an  hour  before  Tom  had 
pulled  up  in  the  woods  that  we  might  suffi 
ciently  admire  a  mountain  who  stood  all  by 
himself,  shaking  with  laughter  or  rage. 

The  glass  cliff  overlooks  a  lake  where  the 
beavers  built  a  dam  about  a  mile  and  a  half 
long  in  a  zig-zag  line,  as  their  necessities 
prompted.  Then  came  the  Government  and 
strictly  preserved  them,  and,  as  you  shall  learn 
later  on,  they  be  damn  impudent  beasts.  The 
old  lady  had  hardly  explained  the  natural  his 
tory  of  beavers  before  we  climbed  some  hills — 
it  really  didn't  matter  in  that  climate,  because 
we  could  have  scaled  the  stars — and  (this 
mattered  very  much  indeed)  shot  down  a 
desperate,  dusty  slope,  brakes  shrieking  on 
the  wheels,  the  mares  clicking  among  unseen 
rocks,  the  dust  dense  as  a  fog,  and  a  wall  of 
trees  on  either  side.  "  How  do  the  heavy 
four-horse  coaches  take  it,  Tom  ?  "  I  asked, 
remembering  that  some  twenty-three  souls  had 
gone  that  way  half  an  hour  before.  "  Take  it 
at  the  run  I  "  said  Tom,  spitting  out  the  dust. 
Of  course  there  was  a  sharp  curve,  and  a  bridge* 


144  American  Notes 

at  the  bottom,  but  luckily  nothing  met  us,  and 
we  came  to  a  wooden  shanty  called  an  hotel, 
in  time  for  a  crazy  tiffin  served  by  very  gor 
geous  handmaids  with  very  pink  cheeks. 
When  health  fails  in  other  and  more  exciting 
pursuits,  a  season  as  "  help  "  in  one  of  the 
Yellowstone  hotels  will  restore  the  frailest 
constitution. 

Then  by  companies  after  tiffin  we  walked 
chattering  to  the  uplands  of  Hell.  They  call 
it  the  Norris  Geyser  Basin  on  Earth.  It  was 
as  though  the  tide  of  desolation  had  gone  out, 
but  would  presently  return,  across  innumerable 
acres  of  dazzling  white  geyser  formation. 
There  were  no  terraces  here,  but  all  other 
horrors.  Not  ten  yards  from  the  road  a  blast 
of  steam  shot  up  roaring  every  few  seconds,  a 
mud  volcano  spat  filth  to  Heaven,  streams  of 
hot  water  rumbled  under  foot,  plunged  through 
the  dead  pines  in  steaming  cataracts  and  died 
on  a  waste  of  white  where  green-gray,  black- 
yellow,  and  link  pools  roared,  shouted,  bub 
bled,  or  hissed  as  their  wicked  fancies  prompt 
ed.  By  the  look  of  the  eye  the  place  should 
have  been  frozen  over.  By  the  feel  of  the  feet 
it  was  warm.  I  ventured  out  among  the  pools, 
carefully  following  tracks,  but  one  unwary 
foot  began  to  sink,  a  squirt  of  water  followed, 
and  having  no  desire  to  descend  quick  into 
Tophet  I  returned  to  the  shore  where  the  mud 
and  the  sulphur  and  the  nameless  fat  ooze- 
vegetation  of  Lethe  lay.  But  the  very  road 


American  Notes  145 

rang  as  though  built  over  a  gulf ;  and  besides, 
how  was  I  to  tell  when  the  raving  blast  of  steam 
would  find  its  vent  insufficient  and  blow  the 
whole  affair  into  Nirvana  ?  There  was  a  po 
tent  stench  of  stale  eggs  everywhere,  and 
crystals  of  sulphur  crumbled  under  the  foot, 
and  the  glare  of  the  sun  on  the  white  stuff 
was  blinding.  Sitting  under  a  bank,  to  me 
appeared  a  young  trooper — ex-Cape  mounted 
Rifles,  this  man  :  the  real  American  seems  to 
object  to  his  army — mounted  on  a  horse  half- 
maddened  by  the  noise  and  steam  and  smelL 
He  carried  only  the  six-shooter  and  cartridge- 
belt.  On  service  the  Springfield  carbine 
(which  is  clumsy)  and  a  cartridge-belt  slung 
diagonally  complete  equipment.  The  sword 
is  no  earthly  use  for  Border  warfare  and,  ex 
cept  at  state  parades,  is  never  worn.  The 
saddle  is  the  McClellan  tree  over  a  four- 
folded  blanket.  Sweat-leathers  you  must  pay 
for  yourself.  And  the  beauty  of  the  tree  is 
that  it  necessitates  first  very  careful  girthing 
and  a  thorough  knowledge  of  tricks  with  the 
blanket  to  suit  the  varying  conditions  of  the 
horse — a  broncho  will  bloat  in  a  night  if  he 
can  get  at  a  bellyful — and,  secondly,  even 
more  careful  riding  to  prevent  galling.  Crup 
per  and  breast-band  do  not  seem  to  be  used, — 
but  they  are  casual  about  their  accouterments, 
— and  the  bit  is  the  single,  jaw-breaking  curb 
which  American  war-pictures  show  us.  That 
young  man  was  very  handsome,  and  the  gray 
10 


146  American  Notes 

service  hat — most  like  the  under  half  of  a 
seedy  terai — shaded  his  strong  face  admirably 
as  his  horse  backed  and  shivered  and  sidled 
and  plunged  all  over  the  road,  and  he  lectured 
from  his  saddle,  one  foot  out  of  the  heavy- 
hooded  stirrup,  one  hand  on  the  sweating 
neck.  "  He's  not  used  to  the  Park,  this  brute, 
and  he's  a  confirmed  bolter  on  parade ;  but 
we  understand  each  other."  Whoosh!  went 
the  steam-blast  down  the  road  with  a  dry  roar. 
Round  spun  the  troop  horse  prepared  to  bolt, 
and,  his  momentum  being,  suddenly  checked, 
reared  till  I  thought  he  would  fall  back  on  his 
rider.  "  Oh,  no  ;  we  settled  that  little  mat 
ter  when  I  was  breaking  him,"  said  Centaur. 
"  He  used  to  try  to  fall  back  on  me.  Isn't  he 
a  devil  ?  I  think  you'd  laugh  to  see  the  way 
our  regiments  are  horsed.  Sometimes  a  big 
Montana  beast  like  mine  has  a  thirteen-two 
broncho  pony  for  neighbor,  and  it's  annoying 
if  you're  used  to  better  things.  And  oh,  how 
you  have  to  ride  your  mount !  It's  necessary  ; 
but  I  can  tell  you  at  the  end  of  a  long  day's 
march,  when  you'd  give  all  the  world  to  ride 
like  a  sack,  it  isn't  sweet  to  get  extra  drill  for 
slouching.  When  we're  turned  out,  we're 
turned  out  for  anything — not  a  fifteen-mile 
trot,  but  for  the  use  and  behoof  of  all  the 
Northern  States.  I've  been  in  Arizona.  A 
trooper  there  who  had  been  in  India  told  me 
that  Arizona  was  like  Afghanistan.  There's 
nothing  under  Heaven  there  except  horned 


American  Notes  147 

toads  and  rattlesnakes — and  Indians.  Our 
trouble  is  that  we  only  deal  with  Indians  and 
they  don't  teach  us  much,  and  of  course  the 
citizens  look  down  on  us  and  all  that.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  suppose  we're  really  only 
mounted  infantry,  but  remember  we're  the 
best  mounted  infantry  in  the  world."  And 
the  horse  danced  a  fandango  in  proof. 

"  My  faith  I  "  said  I,  looking  at  the  dusty 
blouse,  gray  hat,  soiled  leather  accouterments, 
and  whalebone  poise  of  the  wearer.  "  If  they 
are  all  like  you,  you  are." 

"  Thanks,  whoever  you  may  be.  Of  course 
if  we  were  turned  into  a  lawn-tennis  court  and 
told  to  resist,  say,  your  heavy  cavalry,  we'd 
be  ridden  off  the  face  of  the  earth  if  we 
couldn't  get  away.  We  have  neither  the 
weight  nor  the  drill  for  a  charge.  My  horse, 
for  instance,  by  English  standards,  is  half- 
broken,  and  like  all  the  others,  he  bolts  when 
we're  in  line.  But  cavalry  charge  against 
cavalry  charge  doesn't  happen  often,  and  if  it 
did,  well — all  our  men  know  that  up  to  a  hun 
dred  yards  they  are  absolutely  safe  behind 
this  old  thing."  He  patted  his  revolver  pouch. 
"  Absolutely  safe  from  any  shooting  of  yours. 
What  man  do  you  think  would  dare  to  use  a 
pistol  at  even  thirty  yards,  if  his  life  depended 
on  it  ?  Not  one  of  your  men.  They  can't 
shoot  We  can.  You'll  hear  about  that  down 
the  Park — further  up." 

Then  he  added,  courteously :  "  Just  now  it 


148  American  Notes 

seems  that  the  English  supply  all  the  men  to 
the  American  Army.  That's  what  makes 
them  so  good  perhaps."  And  with  mutual 
expressions  of  good-will  we  parted — he  to  an 
outlying  patrol  fifteen  miles  away,  I  to  my 
buggy  and  the  old  lady,  who,  regarding  the 
horrors  of  the  fire-holes,  could  only  say, 
"  Good  Lord !  "  at  thirty-second  intervals. 
Her  husband  talked  about  "  dreffel  waste  of 
steam-power,"  and  we  went  on  in  the  clear, 
crisp  afternoon,  speculating  as  to  the  forma 
tion  of  geysers. 

"  What  I  say,"  shrieked  the  old  lady  apropos 
of  matters  theological,  "  and  what  I  say  more, 
after  having  seen  all  that,  is  that  the  Lord  has 
ordained  a  Hell  for  such  as  disbelieve  His 
gracious  works." 

Nota  bene. — Tom  had  profanely  cursed  the 
near  mare  for  stumbling.  He  looked  straight 
in  front  of  him  and  said  no  word,  but  the  left 
corner  of  his  left  eye  flickered  in  my  direction. 

*'  And  if,"  continued  the  old  lady,  "  if  we 
find  a  thing  so  dreffel  as  all  that  steam  and 
sulphur  allowed  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
mustn't  we  believe  that  there  is  something  ten 
thousand  times  more  terrible  below  prepared 
untoe  our  destruction  ?  " 

Some  people  have  a  wonderful  knack  of 
extracting  comfort  from  things.  I  am 
ashamed  to  say  I  agreed  ostentatiously  with 
the  old  lady.  She  developed  the  personal 
view  of  the  matter. 


American  Notes  149 

"  Now  I  shall  be  able  to  say  something  to 
Anna  Fincher  about  her  way  of  living. 
Shan't  I,  Blake  ?  "  This  to  her  husband. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  speaking  slowly  after  a 
heavy  tiffin.  "  But  the  girl's  a  good  girl ;  " 
and  they  fell  to  arguing  as  to  whether  the  luck 
less  Anna  Fincher  really  stood  in  need  of 
lectures  edged  with  Hell  fire  (she  went  to 
dances,  I  believe) ,  while  I  got  out  and  walked 
in  the  dust  alongside  of  Tom. 

"  I  drive  blame  cur'ous  kinder  folk  through 
this  place,"  said  he.  "  Blame  cur'ous.  'Seems 
a  pity  that  they  should  ha'  come  so  far  just  to 
liken  Norris  Basin  to  Hell.  'Guess  Chicago 
%vould  ha'  served  'em,  speaking  in  comparison, 
jest  as  good." 

We  curved  the  hill  and  entered  a  forest  of 
spruce,  the  path  serpentining  between  the 
tree-boles,  the  wheels  running  silent  on  in> 
memorial  mold.  There  was  nothing  alive  in 
the  forest  save  ourselves.  Only  a  river  was 
speaking  angrily  somewhere  to  the  right.  For 
miles  we  drove  till  Tom  bade  us  alight  and 
look  at  certain  falls.  Wherefore  we  stepped 
out  of  that  forest  and  nearly  fell  down  a  cliff 
which  guarded  a  tumbled  river  and  returned 
demanding  fresh  miracles.  If  the  water  had 
run  up-hill,  we  should  perhaps  have  taken 
more  notice  of  it ;  but  'twas  only  a  waterfall, 
and  I  really  forget  whether  the  water  was 
warm  or  cold.  There  is  a  stream  here  called 
Firehole  River.  1;  is  fed  by  the  overflow 


150  American  Notes 

from  the  various  geysers  and  basins, — a  warm 
and  deadly  river  wherein  no  fish  breed.  I 
think  we  crossed  it  a  few  dozen  times  in  the 
course  of  a  day. 

Then  the  sun  began  to  sink,  and  there  was 
a  taste  of  frost  about,  and  we  went  swiftly 
from  the  forest  into  the  open,  dashed  across 
a  branch  of  the  Firehole  River  and  found  a 
wood  shanty,  even  rougher  than  the  last  at 
which,  after  a  forty-mile  drive,  we  were  to  dine 
and  sleep.  Half  a  mile  from  this  place  stood, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Firehole  River,  a  "  beaver- 
lodge,"  and  there  were  rumors  of  bears  and 
other  cheerful  monsters  in  the  woods  on  the 
hill  at  the  back  of  the  building. 

In  the  cool,  crisp  quiet  of  the  evening  I 
sought  that  river,  and  found  a  pile  of  newly 
gnawed  sticks  and  twigs.  The  beaver  works 
with  the  cold-chisel,  and  a  few  clean  strokes 
suffice  to  level  a  four-inch  bole.  Across  the 
water  on  the  far  bank  glimmered,  with  the 
ghastly  white  of  peeled  dead  timber,  the 
beaver-lodge — a  mass  of  disheveled  branches. 
The  inhabitants  had  dammed  the  stream  lower 
down  and  spread  it  into  a  nice  little  lake. 
The  question  was  would  they  come  out  for 
their  walk  before  it  got  too  dark  to  see. 
They  came — blessings  on  their  blunt  muzzles, 
they  came — as  shadows  come,  drifting  down 
the  stream,  stirring  neither  foot  nor  tail.  There 
were  three  of  them.  One  went  down  to  in 
vestigate  the  state  of  the  dam  ;  the  other  two 


American  Notes  151 

began  to  look  for  supper.  There  is  only  one 
thing  more  startling  than  the  noiselessness  of 
a  tiger  in  the  jungle,  and  that  is  the  noiseless- 
ness  of  a  beaver  in  the  water.  The  straining 
ear  could  catch  no  sound  whatever  till  they 
began  to  eat  the  thick  green  river-scudge  that 
they  call  beaver-grass.  I,  bowed  among  the 
logs,  held  my  breath  and  stared  with  all  my 
eyes.  They  were  not  ten  yards  from  me,  and 
they  would  have  eaten  their  dinner  in  peace 
so  long  as  I  had  kept  absolutely  still.  They 
were  dear  and  desirable  beasts,  and  I  was  just 
preparing  to  creep  a  step  nearer  when  that 
wicked  old  lady  from  Chicago  clattered  down 
the  bank,  an  umbrella  in  her  hand,  shrieking : 
"  Beavers,  beavers  !  Young  man,  whurr  are 
those  beavers  ?  Good  Lord !  What  was  that 
now  ?  " 

The  solitary  watcher  might  have  heard  a 
pistol  shot  ring  through  the  air.  I  wish  it  had 
killed  the  old  lady,  but  it  was  only  the  beaver 
giving  warning  of  danger  with  the  slap  of  his 
tail  on  the  water.  It  was  exactly  like  the 
"  phink"  of  a  pistol  fired  with  damp  powder. 
Then  there  were  no  more  beavers — not  a  whis 
ker-end.  The  lodge,  however,  was  there,  and  a 
beast  lower  than  any  beaver  began  to  throw 
stones  at  it  because  the  old  lady  from  Chicago 
said :  "  P'raps,  if  you  rattle  them  up  they'll 
come  out.  I  do  so  want  to  see  a  beaver." 

Yet  it  cheers  me  to  think  I  have  seen  the 
beiver  in  his  wilds.  Never  will  I  go  to  the 


152  American  Notes 

Zoo.  That  even,  after  supper — 'twere  flattery 
to  call  it  dinner — a  Captain  and  a  Subaltern 
of  the  cavalry  post  appeared  at  the  hotel 
These  were  the  officers  of  whom  the  Mam 
moth  Springs  Captain  had  spoken.  The 
Lieutenant  had  read  everything  that  he  could 
lay  hands  on  about  the  Indian  army,  espe 
cially  our  cavalry  arrangements,  and  was  very 
full  of  a  scheme  for  raising  the  riding  Red 
Indians — it  is  not  every  noble  savage  that  will 
make  a  trooper — into  frontier  levies — a  sort 
of  Khyber  guard.  "  Only,"  as  he  said  rue 
fully,  "  there  is  no  frontier  these  days,  and  all 
our  Indian  wars  are  nearly  over.  Those 
beautiful  beasts  will  die  out,  and  nobody  will 
ever  know  what  splendid  cavalry  they  can 
make." 

The  Captain  told  stories  of  Border  warfare 
— of  ambush,  firing  on  the  rear-guard,  heat 
that  split  the  skull  better  than  any  tomahawk, 
cold  that  wrinkled  the  very  liver,  night- 
stampedes  of  baggage-mules,  raiding  of  cattle, 
and  hopeless  stern-chases  into  inhospitable 
hills,  when  the  cavalry  knew  that  they  were 
not  only  being  outpaced  but  outspied.  Then 
he  spoke  of  one  fair  charge  when  a  tribe  gave 
battle  in  the  open  and  the  troopers  rode  in 
swordless,  firing  right  and  left  with  their  re 
volvers  and — it  was  excessively  uncomfy  for 
that  tribe.  And  I  spoke  of  what  men  had 
told  me  of  huntings  in  Burma,  of  hill-climbing 
in  the  Black  Mountain  affair,  and  so  forth. 


American  Notes  153 

"Exactly!"  said  the  Captain.  "Nobody 
knows  and  nobody  cares.  What  does  it  mat 
ter  to  the  Down-Easter  who  Wrap-up-his-Tail 
was  ? " 

"And  what  does  the  fat  Briton  know  or 
care  about  Boh  Hla-Oo  ?  "  said  I.  Then  both 
together  :  "  Depend  upon  it,  my  dear,  Sir,  the 
army  in  both  Anglo-Saxon  countries  is  a  mis 
chievously  underestimated  institution,  and  it's 
a  pleasure  to  meet  a  man  who,"  etc.,  etc. 
And  we  nodded  triangularly  in  all  good  will, 
and  swore  eternal  friendship.  The  Lieuten 
ant  made  a  statement  which  rather  amazed 
me.  He  said  that,  on  account  of  the  scarcity 
of  business,  many  American  officers  were  to 
be  found  getting  practical  instruction  from 
little  troubles  among  the  South  American  Re 
publics.  When  the  need  broke  out  they 
would  return.  "  There  is  so  little  for  us  to 
do,  and  the  Republic  has  a  trick  of  making  us 
hedge  and  ditch  for  our  pay.  A  little  road- 
making  on  service  is  not  a  bad  thing,  but 
continuous  navvying  is  enough  to  knock  the 
heart  out  of  any  army." 

I  agreed,  and  we  sat  up  till  two  in  the  morn 
ing  swapping  the  lies  of  East  and  West.  As 
that  glorious  chief  Man-afraid-of-Pink-Rats 
once  said  to  the  Agent  on  the  Reservation  : 
"  'Melican  officer  good  man.  Heap  good 
man.  Drink  me.  Prink  he.  Drink  me. 
Drink  he.  Drink  he.  Me  blind, 
man  1  " 


154  American  Notes 


X. 

"  What  man  would  read  and  read  the  selfsame  faces 
And  like  the  marbles  which  the  windmill  grinds, 
Rub  smooth  forever  with  the  same  smooth  minds, 
This    year   retracing  last   year's    every  year's    dull 

traces, 

Where  there  are  woods  and  unmanstifled  places  ? " 

— Lowell. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  carter  who 
brought  his  team  and  a  friend  into  the  Yellow 
stone  Park  without  due  thought.  Presently 
they  came  upon  a  few  of  the  natural  beauties 
of  the  place,  and  that  carter  turned  his  team 
into  his  friend's  team  howling  :  "  Get  back  o* 
this,  Jim.  All  Hell's  alight  under  our  noses." 
And  they  call  the  place  Hell's  Half-acre  to 
this  day.  We,  too,  the  old  lady  from  Chicago, 
her  husband,  Tom,  and  the  good  little  mares 
came  to  Hell's  Half-acre,  which  is  about  sixty 
acres,  and  when  Tom  said :  "  Would  you  like 
to  drive  over  it?"  we  said:  "Certainly  no, 
and  if  you  do,  we  shall  report  you  to  the 
authorities.'*  There  was  a  plain,  blistered 
and  peeled  and  abominable,  and  it  was  given 
over  to  the  sportings  and  spoutings  of  devils 
who  threw  mud  and  steam  and  dirt  at  each 
other  with  whoops  and  halloos  and  bellowing 
curses.  The  place  smelt  of  the  refuse  of  the 
Pit,  and  that  odor  mixed  with  the  clean. 


American  Notes  155 

wholesome  aroma  of  the  pines  in  our  nostrils 
throughout  the  day.  Be  it  known  that  the 
Park  is  laid  out,  like  Ollendorf,  in  exercises 
of  progressive  difficulty.  Hell's  Half-acre 
was  a  prelude  to  ten  or  twelve  miles  of  geyser 
formation.  We  passed  hot  streams  boiling  in 
the  forest ;  saw  whiffs  of  steam  beyond  these, 
and  yet  other  whiffs  breaking  through  the 
misty  green  hills  in  the  far  distance ;  we 
trampled  on  sulphur,  and  sniffed  things  much 
worse  than  any  sulphur  which  is  known  to  the 
upper  world ;  and  so  came  upon  a  parklike 
place  where  Tom  suggested  we  should  get  out 
and  play  with  the  geysers. 

Imagine  mighty  green  fields  splattered  with 
lime  beds  :  all  the  flowers  of  the  summer 
growing  up  to  the  very  edge  of  the  lime. 
That  was  the  first  glimpse  of  the  geyser 
basins.  The  buggy  had  pulled  up  close  to  a 
rough,  broken,  blistered  cone  of  stuff  between 
ten  and  twenty  feet  high.  There  was  trouble 
in  that  place — moaning,  splashing,  gurgling, 
and  the  clank  of  machinery.  A  spurt  of  boil 
ing  water  jumped  into  the  air  and  a  wash 
of  water  followed.  I  removed  swiftly.  The 
old  lady  from  Chicago  shrieked.  "What  a 
wicked  waste  !  "  said  her  husband.  I  think 
they  call  it  the  Riverside  Geyser.  Its  spout 
was  torn  and  ragged  like  the  mouth  of  a  gun 
when  a  shell  has  burst  there.  It  grumbled 
madly  for  a  moment  or  two  and  then  was 
still.  I  crept  over  the  steaming  lime — it  was 


156  American  Notes 

the  burning  marl  on  which  Satan  lay — and 
looked  fearfully  down  its  mouth.  You  should 
never  look  a  gift  geyser  in  the  mouth.  I  be 
held  a  horrible  slippery  slimy  funnel  with 
water  rising  and  falling  ten  feet  at  a  time. 
Then  the  water  rose  to  lip  level  with  a  rush 
and  an  infernal  bubbling  troubled  this  Devil's 
Bethesda  before  the  sullen  heave  of  the  crest 
of  a  wave  lapped  over  the  edge  and  made  me 
run.  Mark  the  nature  of  the  human  soul! 
I  had  begun  with  awe,  not  to  say  terror.  I 
stepped  back  from  the  flanks  of  the  Riverside 
Geyser  saying :  "  Pooh !  Is  that  all  it  can 
do  ?  "  Yet  for  aught  I  knew  the  whole  thing 
might  have  blown  up  at  a  minute's  notice; 
she,  he,  or  it  being  an  arrangement  of  uncer 
tain  temper. 

We  drifted  on  up  that  miraculous  valley. 
On  either  side  of  us  were  hills  from  a  thou 
sand  to  fifteen  feet  high  and  wooded  from 
heel  to  crest.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  range 
forward  were  columns  of  steam  in  the  air, 
misshapen  lumps  of  lime,  most  like  pre- 
adamite  monsters,  still  pools  of  turquoise 
blue,  stretches  of  blue  cornflowers,  a  river 
that  coiled  on  itself  twenty  times,  boulders  of 
strange  colors,  and  ridges  of  glaring,  staring 
white. 

The  old  lady  from  Chicago  poked  with  her 
parasol  at  the  pools  as  though  they  had  been 
alive.  On  one  particularly  innocent-looking 
little  puddle  she  turned  her  back  for  a  mo- 


American  Notes  157 

ment,  and  there  rose  behind  her  a  twenty- 
foot  column  of  water  and  steam.  Then  she 
shrieked  and  protested  that  "  she  never 
thought  it  would  ha'  done  it,"  and  the  old 
man  chewed  his  tobacco  steadily,  and 
mourned  for  steam  power  wasted.  I  em 
braced  the  whitened  stump  of  a  middle-sized 
pine  that  had  grown  all  too  close  to  a  hot 
pool's  lip,  and  the  whole  thing  turned  over 
under  my  hand  as  a  tree  would  do  in  a  night 
mare.  From  right  and  left  came  the  trurn- 
petings  of  elephants  at  play.  I  stepped  into 
a  pool  of  old  dried  blood  rimmed  with  the 
nodding  cornflowers ;  the  blood  changed  to 
ink  even  as  I  trod  !  and  ink  and  blood  were 
washed  away  in  a  spurt  of  boiling  sulphurous 
water  spat  out  from  the  lee  of  a  bank  of  flow 
ers.  This  sounds  mad,  doesn't  it  ? 

A  moonfaced  trooper  of  German  extraction 
• — never  was  Park  so  carefully  patrolled — 
came  up  to  inform  us  that  as  yet  we  had  not 
seen  any  of  the  real  geysers,  that  they  were 
all  a  mile  or  so  up  the  valley,  tastefully  scat 
tered  round  the  hotel  in  which  we  would  rest 
for  the  night.  America  is  a  free  country,  but 
the  citizens  look  down  on  the  soldier.  I  had 
to  entertain  that  trooper.  The  old  lady  from 
Chicago  would  have  none  of  him ;  so  we 
loafed  along  together,  now  across  half-rotten 
pine  logs  sunk  in  swampy  ground,  anon  over 
the  ringing  geyser  formation,  then  knee-deep 
through  long  grass. 


158  American  Notes 

«  And  why  did  you  'list  ?  "  said  I. 

The  moonfaced  one's  face  began  to  work. 
I  thought  he  would  have  a  fit,  but  he  told  me 
a  story  instead — such  a  nice  tale  of  a  naughty 
little  girl  who  wrote  love  letters  to  two  men  at 
once.  She  was  A  simple  village  wife,  but  a 
wicked  "  Family  Novelette  "  countess  couldn't 
have  accomplished  her  ends  better.  She 
drove  one  man  nearly  wild  with  her  pretty 
little  treachery  ;  and  the  other  man  abandoned 
her  and  came  West  to  forget.  Moonface  was 
that  man.  We  rounded  a  low  spur  of  hill, 
and  came  out  upon  a  field  of  aching  snowy 
lime,  rolled  in  sheets,  twisted  into  knots,  riven 
with  rents  and  diamonds  and  stars,  stretching 
for  more  than  half  a  mile  in  every  direction. 
In  this  place  of  despair  lay  most  of  the  big 
geysers  who  know  when  there  is  trouble  in 
Krakatoa,  who  tell  the  pines  when  there  is 
a  cyclone  on  the  Atlantic  seaboard,  and  who 
— are  exhibited  to  visitors  under  pretty  and 
fanciful  names.  The  first  mound  that  I  en 
countered  belonged  to  a  goblin  splashing  in 
his  tub.  I  heard  him  kick,  pull  a  shower- 
bath  on  his  shoulders,  gasp,  crack  his  joints, 
and  rub  himself  down  with  a  towel ;  then  he 
let  the  water  out  of  the  bath,  as  a  thoughtful 
man  should,  and  it  all  sank  down  out  of  sight 
till  another  goblin  arrived.  Yet  they  called 
this  place  the  Lioness  and  the  Cubs.  It  lies 
not  very  far  from  the  Lion,  which  is  a  sullen, 
roaring  beast,  and  they  say  that  when  it  is 


American  Notes  159 

very  active  the  other  geysers  presently  follow 
suit.  After  the  Krakatoa  eruption  all  the 
geysers  went  mad  together,  spouting,  spurting, 
and  bellowing  till  men  feared  that  they  would 
rip  up  the  whole  field.  Mysterious  sympa 
thies  exist  among  them,  and  when  the  Giant 
ess  speaks  (of  her  more  anon)  they  all  hold 
their  peace. 

I  was  watching  a  solitary  spring,  when,  far 
across  the  fields,  stood  up  a  plume  of  spun 
glass,  iridescent  and  superb,  against  the  sky. 
"That,"  said  the  trooper,  "is  Old  Faithful. 
He  goes  off  every  sixty-five  minutes  to  the 
minute,  plays  for  five  minutes,  and  sends  up 
a  column  of  water  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
high.  By  the  time  you  have  looked  at  all  the 
other  geysers  he  will  be  ready  to  play." 

So  we  looked  and  we  wondered  at  the  Bee 
hive,  whose  mouth  is  built  up  exactly  like  a  hive; 
at  the  Turban  (which  is  not  in  the  least  like  a 
turban) ;  and  at  many,  many  other  geysers, 
hot  holes,  and  springs.  Some  of  them 
rumbled,  some  hissed,  some  went  off  spas 
modically,  and  others  lay  still  in  sheets  of 
sapphire  and  beryl. 

Would  you  believe  that  even  these  terrible 
creatures  have  to  be  guarded  by  the  troopers 
to  prevent  the  irreverent  American  from  chip 
ping  the  cones  to  pieces,  or  worse  still,  mak 
ing  the  geysers  sick?  If  you  take  of  soft- 
soap  a  small  barrelful  and  drop  it  down  a 
geyser's  mouth,  that  geyser  will  presently  be 


160  American  Notes 

forced  to  lay  all  before  you  and  for  days  after 
wards  will  be  of  an  irritated  and  inconsistent 
stomach.  When  they  told  me  the  tale  I  was 
filled  with  sympathy.  Now  I  wish  that  I  had 
stolen  soap  and  tried  the  experiment  on  some 
lonely  little  beast  of  a  geyser  in  the  woods. 
It  sounds  so  probable — and  so  human. 

Yet  he  would  be  a  bold  man  who  would  ad 
minister  emetics  to  the  Giantess.  She  is  flat- 
lipped,  having  no  mouth,  she  looks  like  a 
pool,  fifty  feet  long  and  thirty  wide,  and  there 
is  no  ornamentation  about  her.  At  irregular 
intervals  she  speaks,  and  sends  up  a  column 
of  water  over  two  hundred  feet  high  to  begin 
with ;  then  she  is  angry  for  a  day  and  a  half 
— sometimes  for  two  days.  Owing  to  her 
peculiarity  of  going  mad  in  the  night  not 
many  people  have  seen  the  Giantess  at  her 
finest ;  but  the  clamor  of  her  unrest,  men  say, 
shakes  the  wooden  hotel,  and  echoes  like 
thunder  among  the  hills.  When  I  saw  her 
trouble  was  brewing.  The  pool  bubbled  seri 
ously,  and  at  five-minute  intervals,  sank  a 
foot  or  two,  then  rose,  washed  over  the  rim, 
and  huge  steam  bubbles  broke  on  the  top. 
Just  before  an  eruption  the  water  entirely  dis 
appears  from  view.  Whenever  you  see  the 
water  die  down  in  a  geyser-mouth  get  away 
as  fast  as  you  can.  I  saw  a  tiny  little  geyser 
suck  in  its  breath  in  this  way,  and  instinct 
made  me  retire  while  it  hooted  after  me. 

Leaving  the  Giantess  to  swear,   and  spit, 


American  Notes  161 

and  thresh  about,  we  went  over  to  Old  Faith 
ful,  who  by  reason  of  his  faithfulness  has 
benches  close  to  him  whence  you  may  com 
fortably  watch.  At  the  appointed  hour  we 
heard  the  water  flying  up  and  down  the 
mouth  with  the  sob  of  waves  in  a  cave. 
Then  came  the  preliminary  gouts,  then  a  roar 
and  a  rush,  and  that  glittering  column  of 
diamonds  rose,  quivered,  stood  still  for  a 
minute.  Then  it  broke,  ana  the  rest  was  a 
confused  snarl  of  water  not  thirty  feet  high. 
All  the  young  ladies — not  more  than  twenty 
— in  the  tourist  band  remarked  that  it  was 
"  elegant,"  and  betook  themselves  to  writing 
their  names  in  the  bottoms  of  shallow  pools. 
Nature  fixes  the  insult  indelibly,  and  the 
after-years  will  learn  that  "  Hattie,"  "  Sadie," 
"  Mamie,"  "  Sophie,"  and  so  forth,  have  taken 
out  their  hairpins,  and  scrawled  in  the  face 
of  Old  Faithful. 

The  congregation  returned  to  the  hotel  to 
put  down  their  impressions  in  diaries  and 
note-books  which  they  wrote  up  ostentatiously 
in  the  verandas.  It  was  a  sweltering  hot 
day,  albeit  we  stood  somewhat  higher  than 
the  summit  of  Jakko,  and  I  left  that  raw  pine- 
creaking  caravanserai  for  the  cool  shade  of  a 
clump  of  pine  between  whose  trunks  glimmered 
tents.  A  batch  of  troopers  came  down  the 
road,  and  flung  themselves  across  country 
into  their  rough  lines.  Verily  the  'Melican 
cavalry-man  can  ride,  though  he  keeps  his 
II 


i62  American  Notes 

accouterments  pig,  and  his  horse  cow- 
fashion. 

I  was  free  of  that  camp  in  five  minutes- 
free  to  play  with  the  heavy  lumpy  carbines, 
to  have  the  saddles  stripped,  and  punch  the 
horses  knowingly  in  the  ribs.  One  of  the 
men  had  been  in  the  fight  with  **  Wrap-up-his- 
Tail "  before  alluded  to,  and  he  told  me  how 
that  great  chief,  his  horse's  tail  tied  up  in  red 
calico,  swaggered  in  front  of  the  United 
States  cavalry,  challenging  all  to  single  com 
bat.  But  he  was  slain,  and  a  few  of  his  tribe 
with  him.  "  There's  no  use  in  an  Indian, 
anyway,"  concluded  my  friend. 

A  couple  of  cowboys — real  cowboys,  not  the 
Buffalo  Bill  article — jingled  through  the  camp 
amid  a  shower  of  mild  chaff.  They  were  on 
their  way  to  Cook  City,  I  fancy,  and  I  know 
that  they  never  washed.  But  they  were  pic 
turesque  ruffians  with  long  spurs,  hooded  stir 
rups,  slouch  hats,  fur  weather-cloths  over  their 
knees,  and  pistol-butts  easy  to  hand. 

"  The  cowboy's  goin'  under  before  long," 
said  my  friend.  "  Soon  as  the  country's 
settled  up  he'll  have  to  go.  But  he's  mighty 
useful  now.  What  should  we  do  without  the 
cowboy  ? " 

"  As  how  ?  "  said  I,  and  the  camp  laughed. 

"  He  has  the  money.  We  have  the  know- 
how.  He  comes  in  in  winter  to  play  poker  at 
the  military  posts.  We  play  poker — a  few. 
When  he's  lost  his  money  we  make  him  drunk 


American  Notes  163 

•and  let  him  go.  Sometimes  we  get  the  wrong 
man."  And  he  told  a  tale  of  an  innocent 
cowboy  who  turned  up,  cleaned  out,  at  a  post, 
and  played  poker  for  thirty-six  hours.  But  it 
was  the  post  that  was  cleaned  ouc  when  that 
long-haired  Caucasian  Ah  Sin  removed  him 
self,  heavy  with  everybody's  pay,  and  declin 
ing  the  proffered  liquor.  "  Naow,"  said  the 
historian,  "  I  don't  play  with  no  cowboy  unless 
he's  a  little  bit  drunk  first." 

Ere  I  departed  I  gathered  from  more  than 
one  man  that  significant  fact  that  up  to  one 
hundred  yards  he  felt  absolutely  secure  behind 
his  revolver. 

"  In  England,  I  understand,"  quoth  a  lim 
ber  youth  from  the  South,  "  in  England  a  man 
aren't  allowed  to  play  with  no  firearms.  He's 
.got  to  be  taught  all  that  when  he  enlists.  I 
didn't  want  much  teaching  how  to  shoot 
straight  'fore  I  served  Uncle  Sam.  And  that's 
just  where  it  is.  But  you  was  talking  about 
your  horseguards  now  ?  " 

I  explained  briefly  some  peculiarities  of 
equipment  connected  with  our  crackest  crack 
cavalry.  I  grieve  to  say  the  camp  roared. 

"  Take  'em  over  swampy  ground.  Let  'em 
run  around  a  bit  an'  work  the  starch  out  of 
'em,  an'  then,  Almighty,  if  we  wouldn't  plug 
'em  at  ease  I'd  eat  their  horses  1  " 

"  But  suppose  they  engaged  in  the  open  ? " 
said  I. 

"  Engage  the  Hades.     Not  if  there  was  a 


164  American  Notes 

tree-trunk  within  twenty  miles  they  couldn't 
engage  in  the  open  1  " 

Gentlemen,  the  officers,  have  you  ever 
seriously  considered  the  existence  on  ^arth  of 
a  cavalry  who  by  preference  would  fight  in 
timber  ?  The  evident  sincerity  of  the  proposi 
tion  made  me  think  hard  as  I  moved  over  to 
the  hotel  and  joined  a  party  exploration, 
which,  diving  into  the  woods,  unearthed  a  pit 
pool  of  burningest  water  fringed  with  jet 
black  sand — all  the  ground  near  by  being 
pure  white.  But  miracles  pall  when  they  ar 
rive  at  the  rate  of  twenty  a  day.  A  flaming 
dragon-fly  flew  over  the  pool,  reeled  and 
dropped  on  the  water,  dying  without  a  quiver 
of  his  gorgeous  wings,  and  the  pool  said  noth 
ing  whatever,  but  sent  its  thin  steam  wreaths 
up  to  the  burning  sky.  I  prefer  pools  that 
talk. 

There  was  a  maiden — a  very  trim  maiden — 
who  had  just  stepped  out  of  one  of  Mr. 
James's  novels.  She  owned  a  delightful 
mother  and  an  equally  delightful  father,  a 
heavy-eyed,  slow-voiced  man  of  finance.  The 
parents  thought  that  their  daughter  wanted 
change.  She  lived  in  New  Hampshire.  Ac 
cordingly,  she  had  dragged  them  up  to  Alaska, 
to  the  Yosemite  Valley,  and  was  now  returning 
leisurely  via  the  Yellowstone  just  in  time  for 
the  tail-end  of  the  summer  season  at  Saratoga. 
We  had  met  once  or  twice  before  in  the  Park, 
and  I  had  been  amazed  and  amused  at  her 


American  Notes  165 

critical  commendation  of  the  wonders  that  she 
saw.  From  that  very  resolute  little  mouth  I 
received  a  lecture  on  American  literature,  the 
nature  and  inwardness  of  Washington  society, 
the  precise  value  of  Cable's  works  as  com 
pared  with  "  Uncle  Remus  "  Harris,  and  a  few 
other  things  that  had  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  geysers,  but  were  altogether  delightful. 
Now  an  English  maiden  who  had  stumbled  on 
a  dust-grimed,  lime-washed,  sun-peeled,  collar- 
less  wanderer  come  from  and  going  to  good 
ness  knows  where,  would,  her  mother  inciting 
her  and  her  father  brandishing  his  umbrella, 
have  regarded  him  as  a  dissolute  adventurer. 
Not  so  those  delightful  people  from  New 
Hampshire.  They  were  good  enough  to  treat 
me — it  sounds  almost  incredible — as  a  human 
being,  possibly  respectable,  probably  not  in 
immediate  need  of  financial  assistance.  Papa 
talked  pleasantly  and  to  the  point.  The  little 
maiden  strove  valiantly  with  the  accent  of  her 
birth  and  that  of  her  reading,  and  mama 
smiled  benignly  in  the  background. 

Balance  this  with  a  story  of  a  young  Eng 
lish  idiot  I  met  knocking  about  inside  his 
high  collars,  attended  by  a  valet.  He  con 
descended  to  tell  me  that  "  you  can't  be  too 
careful  who  you  talk  to  in  these  parts,"  and 
stalked  on,  fearing,  I  suppose,  every  minute 
for  his  social  chastity.  Now  that  man  was  a 
barbarian  (I  took  occasion  to  tel)  him  so),  for 
he  comported  himself  after  the  manner  of  the 


1 66  American  Notes 

head-hunters  of  Assam,  who  are  at  perpetual 
feud  one  with  another. 

You  will  understand  that  these  foolish  tales 
are  introduced  in  order  to  cover  the  fact  that 
this  pen  cannot  describe  the  glories  of  the 
Upper  Geyser  basin.  The  evening  I  spent 
under  the  lee  of  the  Castle  Geyser  sitting  on 
a  log  with  some  troopers  and  watching  a 
baronial  keep  forty  feet  high  spouting  hot 
water.  If  the  Castle  went  off  first,  they  said 
the  Giantess  would  be  quiet,  and  vice  versa  ; 
and  then  they  told  tales  till  the  moon  got  up 
and  a  party  of  campers  in  the  woods  gave  us 
all  something  to  eat. 

Next  morning  Tom  drove  us  on,  promising 
new  wonders.  He  pulled  up  after  a  few  miles 
at  a  clump  of  brushwood  where  an  army  was 
drowning.  I  could  hear  the  sick  gasps  and 
thumps  of  the  men  going  under,  but  when  I 
broke  through  the  brushwood  the  hosts  had 
fled,  and  there  were  only  pools  of  pink,  black, 
and  white  lime,  thick  as  turbid  honey.  They 
shot  up  a  pat  of  mud  every  minute  or  two, 
choking  in  the  effort.  It  was  an  uncanny 
sight.  Do  you  wonder  that  in  the  old  days 
the  Indians  were  careful  to  avoid  the  Yellow 
stone  ?  Geysers  are  permissible,  but  mud  is 
terrifying.  The  old  lady  from  Chicago  took 
a  piece  of  it,  and  in  half  an  hour  it  dried  into 
lime-dust  and  blew  away  between  her  fingers. 
All  may  a, — illusion, — you  see  !  Then  we 
clinked  over  sulphur  in  crystals ;  there  was  a 


American  Notes  167 

waterfall  of  boiling  water ;  and  a  road  across 
a  level  park  hotly  contested  by  the  beavers. 
Every  winter  they  build  their  dam  and  flood 
the  low-lying  land  ;  every  summer  that  dam  is 
torn  up  by  the  Government,  and  for  half  a 
mile  you  must  plow  axle-deep  in  water,  the 
willows  brushing  into  the  buggy,  and  little 
waterways  branching  off  right  and  left.  The 
road  is  the  main  stream — just  like  the  Bolan 
line  in  flood.  If  you  turn  up  a  byway,  there 
is  no  more  of  you,  and  the  beavers  work  your 
buggy  into  next  year's  dam. 

Then  came  soft,  turfy  forest  that  deadened 
the  wheels,  and  two  troopers — on  detachment 
duty — came  noiselessly  behind  us.  One  was 
the  Wrap-up-his-Tail  man,  and  we  talked  mer 
rily  while  the  half-broken  horses  bucked  about 
among  the  trees  till  we  came  to  a  mighty  hill 
all  strewn  with  moss  agates,  and  everybody 
had  to  get  out  and  pant  in  that  thin  air.  But 
how  intoxicating  it  was  !  The  old  lady  from 
Chicago  clucked  like  an  emancipated  hen  as 
she  scuttled  about  the  road  cramming  pieces 
of  rock  into  her  reticule.  She  sent  me  fifty 
yards  down  the  hill  to  pick  up  a  piece  of  bro 
ken  bottle  which  she  insisted  was  moss  agate. 
"  I've  some  o'  that  at  home  an*  they  shine. 
You  go  get  it,  young  feller." 

As  we  climbed  the  long  path  the  road  grew 
viler  and  viler  till  it  became  without  disguise 
the  bed  of  a  torrent ;  and  just  when  things 
were  at  their  rockiest  we  emerged  into  a  little 


i68  American  Notes 

sapphire  lake — but  never  sapphire  was  so 
blue — called  Mary's  lake ;  and  that  between 
eight  and  nine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea. 
Then  came  grass  downs,  all  on  a  vehement 
slope,  so  that  the  buggy  following  the  new- 
made  road  ran  on  to  the  two  off-wheels  most 
ly,  till  we  dipped  head-first  into  a  ford,  climbed 
up  a  cliff,  raced  along  a  down,  dipped  again 
and  pulled  up  disheveled  at  "Larry's"  for 
lunch  and  an  hour's  rest.  Only  "  Larry " 
could  have  managed  that  school-feast  tent  on 
the  lonely  hillside.  Need  I  say  that  he  was 
an  Irishman  ?  His  supplies  were  at  their 
lowest  ebb,  but  Larry  enveloped  us  all  in  the 
golden  glamour  of  his  speech  ere  we  had  de 
scended,  and  the  tent  with  the  rude  trestle-table 
became  a  palace,  the  rough  fare,  delicacies  of 
Delmonico,  and  we,  the  abashed  recipients  of 
Larry's  imperial  bounty.  It  was  only  later 
that  I  discorered  I  had  paid  eight  shillings 
for  tinned  beef,  biscuits,  and  beer,  but  on  the 
other  hand  Larry  had  said :  "  Will  I  go  out 
an'  kill  a  buffalo  ?  "  And  I  felt  that  for  me 
and  for  me  alone  would  he  have  done  it. 
Everybody  else  felt  that  way.  Good  luck  go 
with  Larry ! 

"  An*  now  you'll  all  go  an*  wash  your 
pocket-handkerchiefs  in  that  beautiful  hot 
spring  round  the  corner,"  said  he.  "  There's 
soap  an'  a  washboard  ready,  an'  'tis  not  every 
day  that  ye  can  get  hot  water  for  nothing." 
He  waved  UG  large-handedly  to  the  open 


American  Notes  169 

downs  while  he  put  the  tent  to  rights.  There 
was  no  sense  of  fatigue  on  the  body  or  distance 
in  the  air.  Hill  and  dale  rode  on  the  eyeball. 
I  could  have  clutched  the  far-off  snowy  peaks 
by  putting  out  my  hand.  Never  was  such 
maddening  air.  Why  we  should  have  washed 
pocket-handkerchiefs  Larry  alone  knows.  It 
appeared  to  be  a  sort  of  religious  rite.  In  a 
little  valley  overhung  with  gay  painted  rocks 
ran  a  stream  of  velvet  brown  and  pink.  It 
was  hot — hotter  than  the  hand  could  bear— 
and  it  colored  the  boulders  in  its  course. 

There  was  the  maiden  from  New  Hampshire, 
the  old  lady  from  Chicago,  papa,  mama,  the 
woman  who  chewed  gum,  and  all  the  rest  of 
them,  gravely  bending  over  a  washboard  and 
soap.  Mysterious  virtues  lay  in  that  queer 
stream.  It  turned  the  linen  white  as  driven 
snow  in  five  minutes,  and  then  we  lay  on  the 
grass  and  laughed  with  sheer  bliss  of  being 
alive.  This  have  I  known  once  in  Japan, 
once  on  the  banks  of  the  Columbia,  what  time 
the  salmon  came  in  and  "  California  "  howled, 
and  once  again  in  the  Yellowstone  by  the  light  of 
the  eyes  of  the  maiden  from  New  Hampshire. 
Four  little  pools  lay  at  rny  elbow :  one  was  of 
black  water  (tepid),  one  clear  water  (cold), 
one  clear  water  (hot) ,  one  red  water  (boiling); 
my  newly  washed  handkerchief  covered  them 
all  We  marveled  as  children  marvel. 

"  This  evening  we  shall  do  the  grand  canon 
of  the  Yellowstone  ?  "  said  the  maiden. 


170  American  Notes 

"  Together  ?  "  said  I ;  and  she  said  yes. 

The  sun  was  sinking  when  we  heard  the 
roar  of  falling  waters  and  came  to  a  broad 
river  along  whose  banks  we  ran.  And  then — 
oh,  then  !  I  might  at  a  pinch  describe  the 
infernal  regions,  but  not  the  other  place.  Be 
it  known  to  you  that  the  Yellowstone  River 
has  occasion  to  run  through  a  gorge  about 
eight  miles  long.  To  get  to  the  bottom  of  the 
gorge  it  makes  two  leaps,  one  of  about  one 
hundred  and  twenty  and  the  other  of  three 
hundred  feet.  I  investigated  the  upper  or 
lesser  fall,  which  is  close  to  the  hotel.  Up  to 
that  time  nothing  particular  happens  to  the 
Yellowstone,  its  banks  being  only  rocky,  rather 
steep,  and  plentifully  adorned  with  pines.  At 
the  falls  it  comes  round  a  corner,  green,  solid, 
ribbed  with  a  little  foam  and  not  more  than 
thirty  yards  wide.  Then  it  goes  over  still 
green  and  rather  more  solid  than  before. 
After  a  minute  or  two  you,  sitting  upon  a  rock 
directly  above  the  drop,  begin  to  understand 
that  something  has  occurred  ;  that  the  river 
has  jumped  a  huge  distance  between  solid 
cliff  walls — and  what  looks  like  the  gentle  froth 
of  ripples  lapping  the  sides  of  the  gorge  below 
is  really  the  outcome  of  great  waves.  And 
the  river  yells  aloud ;  but  the  cliffs  do  not  al 
low  the  yells  to  escape. 

That  inspection  began  with  curiosity  and 
finished  in  terror,  for  it  seemed  that  the  whole 
world  was  sliding  in  chrysolite  from  under  my 


American  Notes  171 

feet  I  followed  with  the  others  round  the 
corner  to  arrive  at  the  brink  of  the  canon  :  we 
had  to  climb  up  a  nearly  perpendicular  ascent 
to  begin  with,  for  the  ground  rises  more  than 
the  river  drops.  Stately  pine  woods  fringe 
either  lip  of  the  gorge,  which  is — the  Gorge  of 
the  Yellowstone. 

All  I  can  say  is  that  without  warning  or 
preparation  I  looked  into  a  gulf  seventeen 
hundred  feet  deep  with  eagles  and  fish-hawks 
circling  far  below.  And  the  sides  of  that  gulf 
were  one  wild  welter  of  color — crimson,  em 
erald,  cobalt,  ochre,  amber,  honey  splashed 
with  port-wine,  snow-white,  vermilion,  lemon, 
and' silver-gray,  in  wide  washes.  The  sides 
did  not  fall  sheer,  but  were  graven  by  time  and 
water  and  air  into  monstrous  heads  of  kings, 
dead  chiefs,  men  and  women  of  the  old  time. 
So  far  below  that  no  sound  of  its  strife  could 
reach  us,  the  Yellowstone  River  ran — a  finger- 
wide  strip  of  jade-green.  The  sunlight  took 
those  wondrous  walls  and  gave  fresh  hues  to 
those  that  nature  had  already  laid  there.  Once 
I  saw  the  dawn  break  over  a  lake  in  Rajputana 
and  the  sun  set  over  the  Oodey  Sagar  amid  a 
circle  of  Holman  Hunt  hills.  This  time  I  was 
watching  both  performances  going  on  below  me 
— upside  down  you  understand — and  the  colors 
were  real  1  The  canon  was  burning  like  Troy 
town  ;  but  it  would  burn  forever,  and,  thank 
goodness,  neither  pen  nor  brush  could  ever 
portray  its  splendors  adequately.  The  Acad- 


172  American  Notes 

emy  would  reject  the  picture  for  a  chromolith 
ograph.  The  public  would  scoff  at  the  letter 
press  for  Daily  Telegraphese.  "  I  will  leave 
this  thing  alone,"  said  I  ;  "  'tis  my  peculiar 
property.  Nobody  else  shall  share  it  with 
me."  Evening  crept  through  the  pines  that 
shadowed  us,  but  the  full  glory  of  the  day 
flamed  in  that  canon  as  we  went  out  very 
cautiously  to  a  jutting  piece  of  rock — blood- 
red  or  pink  it  was — that  overhung  the  deepest 
deeps  of  all.  Now  I  know  what  it  is  to  sit 
enthroned  amid  the  clouds  of  sunset.  Gid 
diness  took  away  all  sensation  of  touch  or  form ; 
but  the  sense  of  blinding  color  remained. 
When  I  reached  the  mainland  again  I  had 
sworn  that  I  had  been  floating.  The  maid 
from  New  Hamsphire  said  no  word  for  a  very 
long  time.  She  then  quoted  poetry,  which 
was  perhaps  the  best  thing  she  could  have 
done. 

"  And  to  think  that  this  show-place  has  been 
going  on  all  these  days  an'  none  of  we  ever 
saw  it,"  said  the  old  lady  from  Chicago,  with 
an  acid  glance  at  her  husband. 

"  No,  only  the  Injuns,"  said  he,  unmoved  ; 
and  the  maiden  and  I  laughed  long.  Inspi 
ration  is  fleeting,  beauty  is  vain,  and  the  power 
of  the  mind  for  wonder  limited.  Though  the 
shining  hosts  themselves  had  risen  choiring 
from  the  bottom  cf  the  gorge  they  would  not 
have  prevented  her  papa  and  one  baser  than 
himself  from  rolling  stones  down  those  stupen- 


American  Notes  173 

dous  rainbow-washed  slides.  Seventeen  hun 
dred  feet  of  steepest  pitch  and  rather  more 
than  seventeen  hundred  colors  for  log  or 
boulder  to  whirl  through  !  So  we  heaved 
things  and  saw  them  gather  way  and  bound 
from  white  rock  to  red  or  yellow,  dragging 
behind  them  torrents  of  color,  till  the  noise  of 
their  descent  ceased  and  they  bounded  a  hun 
dred  yards  clear  at  the  last  into  the  Yellow 
stone. 

"  I've  been  down  there,"  said  Tom  that 
evening.  "  It's  easy  to  get  down  if  you're 
careful — just  sit  and  slide  ;  but  getting  up  is 
worse.  An'  I  found,  down  below  there,  two 
rocks  just  marked  with  a  pictur  of  the  canon. 
I  wouldn't  sell  those  rocks  not  for  fifteen 
dollars," 

And  papa  and  I  crawled  down  to  the  Yellow 
stone — just  .above  the  first  little  fall — to  -wet  a 
line  for  .good  luck.  The  round  moon  came  up 
and  turned  the  cliffs  and  pines  into  silver  ;  a 
two-pormd  tout  came  up  also,  and  we  slew 
him  among  the  rocks,  nearly  tumbling  into  that 

wild  river. 

#  *  *  #  * 

Then  out  and  away  to  Livingstone  once 
more.  The  maiden  from  New  Hampshire 
disappeared  ;  papa  and  mama  with  her 
disappeared.  Disappeared,  too,  the  old  lady 
from  Chicago  and  all  the  rest,  while  I  thought 
of  all  that  I  had  not  seen — the  forest  of  petri 
fied  trees  with  amethyst  crystals  in  their  black 


174  American  Notes 

hearts  ;  the  great  Yellowstone  Lake  where 
you  catch  your  trout  alive  in  one  spring  and 
drop  him  into  another  to  boil  him  ;  and  most 
of  all  of  that  mysterious  Hoodoo  region  where 
all  the  devils  not  employed  in  the  geysers  live 
and  kill  the  wandering  bear  and  elk,  so  that 
the  scared  hunter  finds  in  Death  Gulch  piled 
carcasses  of  the  dead  whom  no  man  has 
smitten.  Hoodoo-land  with  the  overhead 
noises,  the  bird  and  beast  and  devil  rocks,  the 
mazes  and  the  bottomless  pits, — all  these  things 
I  missed.  On  the  return  road  Yankee  Jim 
and  Diana  of  the  Crossways  gave  me  kindly 
greeting  as  the  train  paused  an  instant  before 
their  door,  and  at  Livingstone  whom  should  I 
see  but  Tom  the  driver  ? 

"  I've  done  with  the  Yellowstone  and  decided 
to  clear  out  East  somewheres,"  said  he, 
"  Your  talkin'  about  movin'  round  so  gay  an' 
careless  made  me  kinder  restless  ;  I'm  movin' 
out." 

Lord  forgive  us  for  our  responsibility  one  to 
another  1 

"  And  your  partner  ? "  said  I. 

"  Here's  him,"  said  Tom,  introducing  a 
gawky  youth  with  a  bundle  ;  and  I  saw  those 
two  young  men  turn  their  faces  to  the  East 


American  Notes  175 


XI. 


'*  A  fool  also  is  full  of  words :  a  man  cannot  tell  what 
shall  be  ;  and  what  shall  be  after  him  who  can  tell  ?  " 

IT  has  just  occurred  to  me  with  great  force 
that  delightful  as  these  letters  are  to  myself 
their  length  and  breadth  and  depth  may  be 
just  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world  wearisome 
to  you  over  there.  I  will  compress  myself 
rigorously,  though  I  should  very  much  like  to 
deliver  a  dissertation  on  the  American  Army 
and  the  possibilities  of  its  extension. 

The  American  Army  is  a  beautiful  little 
army.  Some  day,  when  all  the  Indians  arc 
happily  dead  or  drunk,  it  ought  to  make  the 
finest  scientific  and  survey  corps  that  the 
world  has  ever  seen.  It  does  excellent  work 
now,  but  there  is  this  defect  in  its  nature  ;  it 
is  officered,  as  you  know,  from  West  Point,  but 
the  mischief  of  it  is  that  West  Point  seems  to 
be  created  for  the  purpose  of  spreading  a 
general  knowledge  of  military  matters  among 
the  people.  A  boy  goes  up  to  that  institution, 
gets  his  pass,  and  returns  to  civil  life,  so  they 
tell  me,  with  a  dangerous  knowledge  that  he  is 
a  sucking  Moltke,  and  may  apply  his  learning 
when  occasion  offers.  Given  trouble,  that 
man  will  be  a  nuisance,  because  he  is  a 


176  American  Notes 

hideously  versatile  American  to  begin  with,  as 
cock-sure  of  himself  as  a  man  can  be,  and 
with  all  the  racial  disregard  for  human  life  to 
back  him  through  his  demi-semi-professional 
generalship. 

In  a  country  where,  as  the  records  of  the 
daily  papers  show,  men  engaged  in  a  conflict 
with  police  or  jails  are  all  too  ready  to  adopt 
a  military  formation,  and  get  heavily  shot  in  a 
sort  of  cheap,  half-instructed  warfare  instead 
of  being  decently  scared  by  the  appearance  of 
the  military,  this  sort  of  arrangement  does  not 
seem  wise. 

The  bond  between  the  States  is  of  amazing 
tenuity.  So  long  as  they  do  not  absolutely 
march  into  the  District  of  Columbia,  sit  on 
the  Washington  statues,  and  invent  a  flag 
of  their  own,  they  can  legislate,  lynch,  hunt 
negroes  through  swamps,  divorce,  railroad, 
and  rampage  as  much  as  ever  they  choose. 
They  do  not  need  knowledge  of  their  own 
military  strength  to  back  their  genial  law 
lessness. 

That  Regular  Army,  which  is  a  dear  little 
army,  should  be  kept  to  itself,  blooded  on  de 
tachment  duty,  turned  into  the  paths  of 
science,  and  now  and  again  assembled  at 
feasts  of  Freemasons  and  so  forth. 

It's  too  tiny  to  be  a  political  power.  The 
immortal  wreck  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the 
Republic  is  a  political  power  of  the  largest 
and  most  unblushing  description. 


American  Notes  177 

It  ought  not  to  help  to  lay  the  foundations 
of  an  amateur  military  power  that  is  blind 
and  irresponsible.  .  .  . 

Be  thankful  that  the  balance  of  this  lecture 
is  suppressed,  and  with  it  the  account  of  a 
"  shiveree  "  which  I  attended  in  Livingstone 
City :  and  the  story  of  the  editor  and  the  sub 
editor  (the  latter  wras  a  pet  cougar,  or  moun 
tain  lion,  who  used,  they  said,  skilfully  to 
sub-edit  disputants  in  the  office)  of  the  Liv 
ingstone  daily  paper. 

Omitting  a  thousand  matters  of  first  im 
portance,  let  me  pick  up  the  thread  of  things 
on  a  narrow-gauge  line  that  took  me  down  to- 
Salt  Lake.  The  run  between  Delhi  and 
Ahmedabad  on  a  May  day  would  have  been 
bliss  compared  to  this  torture.  There  was 
nothing  but  glare  and  desert  and  alkali  dust. 
There  was  no  smoking-accommodation.  I 
sat  in  the  lavatory  with  the  conductor  and  a 
prospector  who  told  stories  about  Indian 
atrocities  in  the  voice  of  a  dreaming  child — 
oath  following  oath  as  smoothly  as  clotted 
cream  laps  the  mouth  of  the  jug.  I  don't 
think  he  knew  he  was  saying  anything  out  of 
the  way,  but  nine  or  ten  of  those  oaths  were 
new  to  me,  and  one  even  made  the  conductor 
raise  his  eyebrows. 

"  And  when  a  man's  alone  mostly,  leadin* 

his  horse  across  the  hills,  he  gets  to  talk  aloud 

to  himself  as  it  was,"  said  the  weather-worn 

retailer  of  tortures.     A  vision  rose  before  me 

12 


178  American  Notes 

of  this  man  trampling  the  Bannack  City  trail 
under  the  stars — swearing,  always  swearing. 

Bundles  of  rags  that  were  pointed  out  as 
Red  Indians,  boarded  the  train  from  time  to 
time.  Their  race  privileges  allow  them  free 
transit  on  the  platforms  of  the  cars.  They 
mustn't  come  inside  of  course,  and  equally  of 
course  the  train  never  thinks  of  pulling  up 
for  them.  I  saw  a  squaw  take  us  flying  and 
leave  us  in  the  same  manner  when  we  were 
spinning  round  a  curve.  Like  the  Punjabi, 
the  Red  Indian  gets  out  by  preference  on  the 
trackless  plain  and  walks  stolidly  to  the 
horizon.  He  never  says  where  he  is 
going.  .  .  . 

Salt  Lake.  I  am  concerned  for  the  sake 
of  Mr.  Phil  Robinson,  his  soul.  You  will 
remember  that  he  wrote  a  book  called  Saints 
and  Sinners  in  which  he  proved  very  prettily 
that  the  Mormon  was  almost  altogether  an 
estimable  person.  Ever  since  my  arrival  at 
Salt  Lake  I  have  been  wondering  what  made 
him  write  that  book.  On  mature  reflection, 
and  after  a  long  walk  round  the  city,  I  am 
inclined  to  think  it  was  the  sun,  which  is  very 
powerful  hereabouts. 

By  great  good  luck  the  evil-minded  train 
already  delayed  twelve  hours  by  a  burnt 
bridge,  brought  me  to  the  city  on  a  Saturday 
by  way  of  that  valley  which  the  Mormons 
aver  their  efforts  had  caused  to  blossom 
like  the  rose.  Some  hours  previously  I 


American  Notes  179 

had  entered  a  new  world  where,  in  conver 
sation,  every  one  was  either  a  Mormon  or 
a  Gentile.  It  is  not  seemly  for  a  free  and 
independent  citizen  to  dub  himself  a  Gentile, 
but  the  Mayor  of  Ogden — which  is  the  Gen 
tile  city  of  the  valley — told  me  that  there  must 
be  some  distinction  between  the  two  flocks. 

Long  before  the  fruit  orchards  of  Logan  or 
the  shining  levels  of  the  Salt  Lake  had  been 
reached  that  Mayor — himself  a  Gentile,  and 
one  renowned  for  his  dealings  with  the  Mor 
mons — told  me  that  the  great  question  of  the 
existence  of  the  power  within  the  power  was 
being  gradually  solved  by  the  ballot  and  by 
education. 

"  We  have/*  quoth  he,  "  hills  round  and 
about  here,  stuffed  full  of  silver  and  gold  and 
lead,  and  all  Hell  atop  of  the  Mormon  church 
can't  keep  the  Gentile  from  flocking  in  when 
that's  the  case.  At  Ogden,  thirty  miles  from 
Salt  Lake,  this  year  the  Gentile  vote  swamped 
the  Mormon  at  the  Municipal  elections,  and 
next  year  we  trust  that  we  shall  be  able  to 
repeat  our  success  in  Salt  Lake  itself.  In 
that  city  the  Gentiles  are  only  one-third  of 
the  total  population,  but  the  mass  of  'em  are 
grown  men,  capable  of  voting.  Whereas  the 
Mormons  are  cluttered  up  with  children.  I 
guess  as  soon  as  we  have  purely  Gentile  offi 
cers  in  the  township,  and  the  control  of  the 
policy  of  the  city,  the  Mormons  will  have  to 
back  down  considerable.  They're  bound  to 


180  American  Notes 

go  before  long.  My  own  notion  is  that  it'* 
the  older  men  who  keep  alive  the  opposition 
to  the  Gentile  and  all  his  works.  The  younger 
ones,  spite  of  all  the  elders  tell  'em,  -wiff  mix 
with  the  Gentile,  and  read  Gentile  books, 
and  you  bet  your  sweet  life  there's  a  holy  in 
fluence  working  toward  conversion  in  the  kiss 
of  an  average  Gentile — specially  when  the 
girl  knows  that  he  won't  think  it  necessary 
for  her  salvation  to  load  the  house  up  with 
other  women-folk.  I  guess  the  younger  gen 
eration  are  giving  sore  trouble  to  the  elders. 
What's  that  you  say  about  polygamy  ?  It's  a 
penal  offense  now  under  a  Bill  passed  not 
long  ago.  The  Mormon  has  to  elect  one  wife 
and  keep  to  her.  If  he's  caught  visiting  any 
of  the  others — do  you  see  that  cool  and  rest 
ful  brown  stone  building  way  over  there 
against  the  hillside  ?  That's  the  penitentiary. 
He  is  sent  there  to  consider  his  sins,  and  he 
pays  a  fine,  too.  But  most  of  the  police  in 
Suit  Lake  are  Mormons,  and  I  don't  suppose 
they  are  too  hard  on  their  friends.  I  presoom 
there's  a  good  deal  of  polygamy  practised  on 
the  sly.  But  the  chief  trouble  is  to  get  the 
Mormon  to  see  that  the  Gentile  isn't  the 
doubly-damned  beast  that  the  elders  repre 
sent.  Only  get  the  Gentiles  well  into  the 
State,  and  the  whole  concern  is  bound  to  go 
to  pieces  in  a  very  little  time.5' 

And  the  wish  being  father  to  the  thought, 
**  Why,  certainly,"  said  I,  and  began  to  take 


American  Notes  181 

in  the  valley  of  Deseret,  the  home  of  the 
latter-day  saints,  and  the  abode  perhaps  of  as 
much  misery  as  has  ever  been  compressed 
into  forty  years.  The  good  folk  at  home  will 
not  understand,  but  you  will,  what  follows. 
You  know  how  in  Bengal  to  this  day  the 
child-wife  is  taught  to  curse  her  possible  co- 
wife,  ere  yet  she  has  gone  to  her  husband's 
house  ?  And  the  Bengali  woman  has  been 
accustomed  to  polygamy  for  a  few  hundred 
years.  You  know,  too,  the  awful  jealousy  be 
tween  mother  wife  and  barren  behind  the 
purdah — the  jealousy  that  culminates  some 
times  in  the  poisoning  of  the  well-beloved 
son  ?  Now  and  again,  an  Englishwoman 
employs  a  high-caste  Mussulman  nurse,  and 
in  the  offices  of  that  hire  women  are  apt  to 
forget  the  differences  of  color,  and  to  speak 
unreservedly  as  twin  daughters  under  Eve's 
curse.  The  nurse  tells  very  strange  and 
awful  things.  She  has,  and  this  the  Mor 
mons  count  a  privilege,  been  born  into  poly 
gamy  ;  but  she  loathes  and  detests  it  from 
the  bottom  of  her  jealous  soul.  And  to  the 
lot  of  the  Bengali  co-wife — "  the  cursed  of  the 
cursed — the  daughter  of  the  dunghill — the 
scald-head  and  the  barren-mute  "  (you  know 
the  rest  of  that  sweet  commination-service) — 
one  creed,  of  all  the  White  creeds  to-day, 
deliberately  introduces  the  white  woman  taken 
from  centuries  of  training,  which  have  taught 
her  that  it  is  right  to  control  the  undivided 


1 82  American  Notes 

heart  of  one  man.  To  quench  her  most 
natural  rebellion,  that  amazing  creed  and  fan 
tastic  jumble  of  Mahometanism,  the  Mosaic 
law,  and  imperfectly  comprehended  fragments 
of  Freemasonry,  calls  to  its  aid  all  the  powers 
of  a  hell  conceived  and  elaborated  by  coarse- 
minded  hedgers  and  ditchers.  A  sweet  view, 
isn't  it  ? 

All  the  beauty  of  the  valley  could  not  make 
me  forget  it.  But  the  valley  is  very  fair. 
Bench  after  bench  of  land,  flat  as  a  table 
against  the  flanks  of  the  ringing  hills,  marks 
where  the  Salt  Lake  rested  for  a  while  as  it 
sunk  from  an  inland  sea  to  a  lake  fifty  miles 
long  and  thirty  broad.  Before  long  the 
benches  will  be  covered  with  houses.  At 
present  these  are  hidden  among  the  green 
trees  on  the  dead  flat  of  the  valley.  You 
have  read  a  hundred  times  how  the  streets  of 
Salt  Lake  City  are  very  broad,  furnished  with 
rows  of  shade  trees  and  gutters  of  fresh  water. 
This  is  true,  but  I  struck  the  town  in  a 
season  of  great  drouth — that  same  drouth 
which  is  playing  havoc  with  the  herds  of 
Montana.  The  trees  were  limp,  and  the  rills 
of  sparkling  water  that  one  reads  about  were 
represented  by  dusty,  paved  courses.  Main 
Street  appears  to  be  inhabited  by  the  com 
mercial  Gentile,  who  has  made  of  it  a  busy, 
bustling  thoroughfare,  and,  in  the  eye  of  the 
sun,  swigs  the  ungodly  lager  and  smokes  the 
improper  cigar  all  day  long.  For  which  I 


American  Notes  183 

like  him.  At  the  head  of  Main  Street  stand 
the  lions  of  the  place  ;  the  Temple  and  the 
Tabernacle,  the  Tithing  House,  and  the 
houses  of  Brigham  Young,  whose  portrait  is 
on  sale  in  most  of  the  booksellers'  shops. 
Incidentally  it  may  be  mentioned  that  the 
late  Amir  of  Utah  does  not  unremotely  re 
semble  His  Highness  the  Amir  of  Afghanis 
tan,  whom  these  fortunate  eyes  have  seen. 
And  I  have  no  desire  to  fall  into  the  hands 
of  the  Amir.  The  first  thing  to  be  seen  was, 
of  course,  the  outward  exponent  of  a  creed. 
Armed  with  a  copy  of  the  Book  of  Mormon, 
for  better  comprehension,  I  went  to  form 
rash  opinions.  Some  day  the  Temple  will  be 
finished.  It  was  begun  only  thirty  years 
ago,  and  up  to  date  rather  more  than  three 
million  dollars  and  a  half  have  been  expended 
in  its  granite  bulk.  The  walls  are  ten  feet 
thick;  the  edifice  itself  is  about  a  hundred 
feet  high ;  and  its  towers  will  be  nearly  two 
hundred.  And  that  is  all  there  is  of  it,  unless 
you  choose  to  inspect  more  closely;  always 
reading  the  Book  of  Mormon  as  you  walk. 
Then  the  wondrous  puerility,  of  what  I  sup 
pose  we  must  call  the  design,  becomes  ap 
parent.  These  men,  directly  inspired  from 
on  High,  heaped  stone  on  stone  and  pillar  on 
pillar,  without  achieving  either  dignity,  relief, 
or  interest.  There  is,  over  the  main  door, 
some  pitiful  scratching  in  stone  representing 
the  all-seeing  eye,  the  Masonic  grip,  the  sun, 


184  American  Notes 

moon,  and  stars,  and,  perhaps,  other  skittles. 
The  flatness  and  meanness  of  the  thing  al 
most  makes  you  weep  when  you  look  at  the 
magnificent  granite  in  blocks  strewn  abroad^ 
and  think  of  the  art  that  three  million  dollars 
might  have  called  in  to  the  aid  of  the  church. 
It  is  as  though  a  child  had  said :  "  Let  us 
draw  a  great,  big,  fine  house — finer  than  any 
house  that  ever  was," — and  in  that  desire  had 
laboriously  smudged  along  with  a  ruler  and 
pencil,  piling  meaningless  straight  lines  on 
compass-drawn  curves,  with  his  tongue  fol 
lowing  every  movement  of  the  inept  hand. 
Then  sat  I  down  on  a  wheelbarrow  and  read 
the  Book  of  Mormon,  and  behold  the  spirit  of 
the  book  was  the  spirit  of  the  stone  before 
me.  The  estimable  Joseph  and  Hyrum  Smith 
struggling  to  create  a  new  Bible,  when  they 
knew  nothing  of  the  history  of  Old  and  New 
Testament,  and  the  inspired  architect  mud 
dling  with  his  bricks — they  were  brothers. 
But  the  book  was  more  interesting  than  the 
building.  It  is  written,  and  all  the  world  has 
read,  how  to  Joseph  Smith  an  angel  came 
down  from  Heaven  with  a  pair  of  celestial 
gig-lamps,  whereby  he  was  marvelously  en 
abled  to  interpret  certain  plates  of  gold  scrib 
bled  over  with  dots  and  scratches,  and  dis 
covered  by  him  in  the  ground.  Which  plates 
Joseph  Smith  did  translate  —  only  he  spelt 
the  mysterious  characters  "  caractors  " — and 
out  of  the  dots  and  scratches  produced  a 


American  Notes  185 

volume  of  six  hundred  closely  printed  pages, 
containing  the  books  of  Nephi,  first  and  sec 
ond,  Jacob,  Enos,  Jarom,  Omni,  Mormon, 
Mosiah,  the  Record  of  Zeniff,  the  book  of 
Alma  Helaman,  the  third  of  Nephi,  the  book 
of  Ether  (the  whole  thing  is  a  powerful 
anaesthetic,  by  the  way),  and  the  final  book  of 
Mononi.  Three  men,  of  whom  one  I  believe 
is  now  living,  bear  solemn  witness  that  the 
angel  with  the  spectacles  appeared  unto  them  ; 
eight  other  men  swear  solemnly  that  they 
have  seen  the  golden  plates  of  the  revelation ; 
and  upon  this  testimony  the  book  of  Mormon 
stands.  The  Mormon  Bible  begins  at  the 
days  of'Zedekiah,  King  of  Judah,  and  ends  in 
a  wild  and  weltering  quagmire  of  tribal  fights, 
bits  of  revelation,  and  wholesale  cribs  from 
the  Bible.  Very  sincerely  did  I  sympathize 
with  the  inspired  brothers  as  I  waded  through 
their  joint  production.  As  a  humble  feilow- 
worker  in  the  field  of  fiction,  I  knew  what  it 
was  to  get  good  names  for  one's  characters. 
But  Joseph  and  Hyrum  were  harder  bestead 
than  ever  I  have  been ;  and  bolder  men  to 
boot.  They  created  Teancum  and  Corian- 
tumy  Pahoran,  Kishkumen,  and  Gadianton, 
and  other  priceless  names  which  the  memory 
does  not  hold ;  but  of  geography  they  wisely 
steered  clear,  and  were  astutely  vague  as 
to  the  locality  of  places,  because  you  see 
they  were  by  no  means  certain  what  lay 
in  the  next  county  to  their  own.  They 


1 86  American  Notes 

marched  and  countermarched  bloodthirsty 
armies  across  their  pages  ;  and  added  new  and 
amazing  chapters  to  the  records  of  the  New 
Testament,  and  reorganized  the  heavens  and 
the  earth  as  it  is  always  lawful  to  do  in  print. 
But  they  could  not  achieve  style,  and  it  was 
foolish  of  them  to  let  into  their  weird  Mosaic 
pieces  of  the  genuine  Bible  whenever  the 
laboring  pen  dropped  from  its  toilsome  parody 
to  a  sentence  or  two  of  vile,  bad  English  or 
downright  "  penny  dreadfulism."  "  And 
Moses  said  unto  the  people  of  Israel: 
1  Great  Scott  1  what  air  you  doing  ?  '  There 
is  no  sentence  in  the  Book  of  Mormon  word 
for  word  like  the  foregoing ;  but  the  -general 
tone  is  not  widely  different. 

There  are  the  makings  of  a  very  fine  creed 
about  Mormonism.  To  begin  with,  the 
Church  is  rather  more  absolute  than  that  of 
Rome.  Drop  the  polygamy  plank  in  the  plat 
form,  but  on  the  other  hand  deal  lightly  with 
certain  forms  of  excess.  Keep  the  quality  of 
the  recruits  down  to  a  low  mental  level  and 
see  that  the  best  of  the  agricultural  science 
available  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Elders,  and 
you  have  there  a  first-class  engine  for  pioneer 
work.  The  tawdry  mysticism  and  the  bor 
rowings  from  Freemasonry  serve  the  low-caste 
Swede  and  the  Dane,  the  Welshman  and  the 
Cornish  cottar,  just  as  well  as  a  highly  organ 
ized  Heaven. 

I  went  about  the  streets  and  peeped  into 


American  Notes  187 

people's  front  windows,  and  the  decorations 
upon  the  tables  were  after  the  manner  of  the 
year  1850.  Main  Street  was  full  of  country 
folk  from  the  outside  come  in  to  trade  with 
the  Zion  Mercantile  Co-operative  Institute. 
The  Church,  I  fancy,  looks  after  the  finances 
of  this  thing,  and  it  consequently  pays  good 
dividends.  The  faces  of  the  women  were  not 
lovely.  Indeed,  but  for  the  certainty  that 
ugly  persons  are  just  as  irrational  in  the  mat 
ter  of  undivided  love  as  the  beautiful,  it 
seemed  that  polygamy  was  a  blessed  institu 
tion  for  the  women,  and  that  only  the  spiritual 
power  could  drive  the  hulking,  board-faced 
men  into  it.  The  women  wore  hideous  gar 
ments,  and  the  men  seemed  to  be  tied  up 
with  string.  They  would  market  all  that 
afternoon,  and  on  Sunday  go  to  the  praying- 
place.  I  tried  to  talk  to  a  few  of  them,  but 
they  spoke  strange  tongues  and  stared  and 
behaved  like  cows.  Yet  one  woman,  and  not 
an  altogether  ugly  one,  confided  to  me  that 
she  hated  the  idea  of  Salt  Lake  City  being 
turned  into  a  show-place  for  the  amusement 
of  the  Gentile. 

"  If  we  'ave  our  own  institutions,  that  ain't 
no  reason  why  people  should  come  'ere  and 
stare  at  us,  his  it  ?  " 

The  dropped  "  h  "  betrayed  her. 

"  And  when  did  you  leave  England  ?  "  I 
said. 

"  Summer  of  '84.     I  am  from  Dorset,"  sh* 


1 88  American  Notes 

said  "  The  Mormon  agents  was  very  good 
to  us,  and  we  was  very  poor.  Now  we're 
better  off — my  father  an'  mother  an'  me." 

"  Then  you  like  the  State  ?  " 

She  misunderstood  at  first  "  Oh,  I  ain't 
livin'  in  the  state  of  polygamy.  Not  me  yet. 
I  ain't  married.  I  like  where  I  am.  I've  got 
things  o'  my  own — and  some  land." 

"  But  I  suppose  you  will " 

"  Not  me.  I  ain't  like  them  Swedes  an* 
Danes.  I  ain't  got  nothing  to  say  for  or 
against  polygamy.  It's  the  Elders'  business, 
an'  between  you  an'  me  I  don't  think  it's 
going  on  much  longer.  You'll  'ear  them  in 
the  Jouse  to-morrer  talkin'  as  if  it  was 
spreadin'  all  over  America.  The  Swedes 
they  think  it  his.  I  know  it  hisn't." 

"  But  you've  got  your  land  all  right." 

"  Oh,  yes,  we've  got  our  land  an'  we  never 
say  aught  against  polygamy  o'  course — father 
an'  mother  an'  me." 

It  strikes  me  that  there  is  a  fraud  some 
where.  You've  never  heard  of  the  rice- 
Christians,  have  you  ? 

I  should  have  liked  to  have  spoken  to  the 
maiden  at  length,  but  she  dived  into  the  Zion 
Co-op,  and  a  man  captured  me,  saying  that  it 
was  my  bounden  duty  to  see  the  sights  of  Salt 
Lake.  These  comprised  the  egg-shaped 
Tabernacle,  the  Beehive,  and  town  houses  of 
Brigham  Young ;  the  same  great  ruffian's 
tomb  with  assorted  samples  of  his  wives  sleep- 


American  Notes  189 

ing  round  him  (just  as  the  eleven  faithful  ones 
sleep  round  the  ashes  of  Runjit  Singh  outside 
Fort  Lahore),  and  one  or  two  other  curiosi 
ties.  But  all  these  things  have  been  de 
scribed  by  abler  pens  than  mine.  The  animal- 
houses  where  Brigham  used  to  pack  his  wives 
are  grubby  villas;  the  Tabernacle  is  a 
shingled  fraud,  and  the  Tithing  House  where 
all  the  revenue  returns  seem  to  be  made,  much 
resembles  a  stable.  The  Mormons  have  a 
paper  currency  of  their  own — ecclesiastical 
bank-notes  which  are  exchanged  for  local  pro 
duce.  But  the  little  boys  of  the  place  prefer 
the  bullion  of  the  Gentiles.  It  is  not  pleasant 
to  be  taken  round  a  township  with  your  guide 
stopping  before  every  third  house  to  say: 
"  That's  where  Elder  so  and  so  kept  Amelia 
Bathershins,  his  fifth  wife — no,  his  third. 
Amelia  she  was  took  on  after  Keziah,  but 
Keziah  was  the  Elder's  pet,  an'  he  didn't  dare 
to  let  Amelia  come  across  Keziah  for  fear  of 
her  spilin'  Keziah's  beauty."  The  Mussul 
mans  are  quite  right.  The  minute  that  all  the 
domestic  details  of  polygamy  are  discussed  in 
the  mouths  of  the  people,  that  institution  is 
ready  to  fall.  I  shook  off  my  guide  when  he 
had  told  me  his  very  last  doubtful  tale,  and 
went  on  alone.  An  ordered  peace  and  a  per 
fection  of  quiet  luxury  is  the  note  of  the  city 
of  Salt  Lake.  The  houses  stand  in  generous 
and  well-groomed  grass-plots,  none  very  much 
worse  or  better  than  their  neighbors. 


190  American  Notes 

•Creepers  grow  over  the  house  fronts,  and 
.there  is  a  very  pleasant  music  of  wind  among 
the  trees  in  the  vast  empty  streets  bringing  a 
smell  of  hay  and  the  flowers  of  summer. 

On  a  tableland  overlooking  all  the  city 
stands  the  United  States  garrison  of  infantry 
and  artillery.  The  State  of  Utah  can  do 
-nearly  anything  it  pleases  until  that  much-to- 
be-desired  hour  when  the  Gentile  vote  shall 
•quietly  swamp  out  Mormonism  ;  but  the  gar 
rison  is  kept  there  in  case  of  accidents.  The 
big,  shark-mouthed,  pig-eared,  heavy-boned 
farmers  sometimes  take  to  their  creed  with 
wildest  fanaticism,  and  in  past  years  have 
•made  life  excessively  unpleasant  for  the  Gen 
tile  when  he  was  few  in  the  land.  But  to 
day,  so  far  from  killing  openly  or  secretly,  or 
burning  Gentile  farms,  *  it  is  all  the  Mormon 
<dares  do  to  feebly  try  to  boycott  the  inter 
loper.  His  journals  preach  defiance  to  the 
United  States  Government,  and  in  the  Taber 
nacle  of  a  Sunday  the  preachers  follow  suit. 
When  I  went  down  there  the  place  was  full  of 
people  who  would  have  been  much  better  for 
a  washing.  A  man  rose  up  and  told  them 
that  they  were  the  chosen  of  God,  the  elect  of 
Israel,  that  they  were  to  obey  their  priest,  and 
that  there  was  a  good  time  coming.  I  fancy 
that  they  had  heard  all  this  before  so  many 
times  it  produced  no  impression  whatever ; 
even  as  the  sublimest  mysteries  of  another 
Faith  lost  salt  through  constant  iteration, 


American  Notes  191 

They  breathed  heavily  through  their  noses  and 
stared  straight  in  front  of  them — impassive  as 
flatfish. 

And  that  evening  I  went  up  to  the  garrison 
post — one  of  the  most  coveted  of  all  the  army 
commands — and  overlooked  the  City  cf  the 
Saints  as  it  lay  in  the  circle  of  its  forbidding 
hills.  You  can  speculate  a  good  deal  about  the 
mass  of  human  misery,  the  loves  frustrated, 
the  gentle  hearts  broken,  and  the  strong  souls 
twisted  from  the  law  of  life  to  a  fiercer  fol 
lowing  of  the  law  of  death,  that  the  hills  have 
seen.  How  must  it  have  been  in  the  old  days 
when  the  footsore  emigrants  broke  through 
into  the  circle  and  knew  that  they  were  cut  off 
from  hope  of  return  or  sight  of  friends — were 
handed  over  to  the  power  of  the  friends  that 
called  themselves  priests  of  the  Most  High  ? 
"  But  for  the  grace  of  God  there  goes  Richard 
Baxter."  as  the  eminent  divine  once  said.  It 
seemed  good  that  fate  did  not  order  me  to  be 
a  brick  in  the  up-building  of  the  Mormon 
church,  that  has  so  aptly  established  herself 
by  the  borders  of  a  lake  bitter,  salt,  and  hope 
less. 


IQ2  American  Notes 


XII. 

"  Much  have  I  seen, 
Cities  and  men." 

LET  there  be  no  misunderstanding  about 
the  matter.  I  love  this  People,  and  if  any 
contemptuous  criticism  has  to  be  done,  I  will 
do  it  myself.  My  heart  has  gone  out  to  them 
beyond  all  other  peoples ;  and  for  the  life  of 
me  I  cannot  tell  why.  They  are  bleeding- 
raw  at  the  edges,  almost  more  conceited  than 
the  English,  vulgar  with  a  massive  vulgarity 
which  is  as  though  the  Pyramids  were  coated 
with  Christmas-cake  sugar-works.  Cocksure 
they  are,  lawless  and  as  casual  as  they  are 
cocksure  ;  but  I  love  them,  and  I  realized  it 
when  I  met  an  Englishman  who  laughed  at 
them.  He  proved  conclusively  that  they 
were  all  wrong,  from  their  tariff  to  their  go- 
as-you-please  Civil  Service,  and  beneath  the 
consideration  of  a  true  Briton. 

"  I  admit  everything/'  said  I.  "  Their 
Government's  provisional ;  their  law's  the 
notion  of  the  moment;  their  railways  are 
made  of  hairpins  and  match-sticks,  and  most 
of  their  good  luck  lives  in  their  woods  and 
mines  and  rivers  and  not  in  their  brains ;  but 
for  all  that,  they  be  the  biggest,  finest,  and 
best  people  on  the  surface  of  the  globe! 


American  Notes  193 

Just  you  wait  a  hundred  years  and  see  how 
they'll  behave  when  they've  had  the  screw  put  j  ' 
on  them  and  have  forgotten  a  few  of  the 
patriarchal  teachings  of  the  late  Mister  George 
Washington.  Wait  till  the  Anglo-American- 
German-Jew — the  Man  of  the  Future — is 
properly  equipped.  He'll  have  just  the  least 
Lttle  kink  in  his  hair  now  and  again ;  he'll 
carry  the  English  lungs  above  the  Teuton  feet 
that  can  walk  forever  ;  and  he  will  wave  long, 
thin,  bony  Yankee  hands  with  the  big  blue 
veins  on  the  wrist,  from  one  end  of  the  earth  to 
the  other.  He'll  be  the  finest  writer,  poet,  and 
dramatist,  'specially  dramatist,  that  the  world 
as  it  recollects  itself  has  ever  seen.  By  virtue 
of  his  Jew  blood — just  a  little,  little  drop — 
he'll  be  a  musician  and  a  painter  too.  At 
present  there  is  too  much  balcony  and  too 
little  Romeo  in  the  life-plays  of  his  fellow- 
citizens.  Later  on,  when  the  proportion  is 
adjusted  and  he  sees  the  possibilities  of  his 
land,  he  will  produce  things  that  will  make  the 
effete  East  stare.  He  will  also  be  a  complex 
and  highly  composite  administrator.  There 
is  nothing  known  to  man  that  he  will  not  be, 
and  his  country  will  sway  the  world  with  one 
foot  as  a  man  tilts  a  seesaw  plank  !  " 

"  But  this  is  worse  than  the  Eagle  at  its 
worst.  Do  you  seriously  believe  all  that  ?  " 
said  the  Englishman. 

"  If  I  believe  anything  seriously,  all  this  I 
most  firmly  believe.  You  wait  and  see, 


194  American  Notes 

Sixty  million  people,  chiefly  of  English  in 
stincts,  who  are  trained  from  youth  to  believe 
that  nothing  is  impossible,  don't  slink  through 
the  centuries  like  Russian  peasantry.  They 
are  bound  to  leave  their  mark  somewhere,  and 
don't  you  forget  it." 

But  isn't  it  sad  to  think  that  with  all  Eter 
nity  behind  and  before  us  we  cannot,  even 
though  we  would  pay  for  it  with  sorrow,  filch 
from  the  Immensities  one  hundred  poor  years 
of  life,  wherein  to  watch  the  two  Great  Exper 
iments  ?  A  hundred  years  hence  India  and 
America  will  be  worth  observing.  At  present 
the  one  is  burned  out  and  the  other  is  only  just 
stoking  up.  When  I  left  my  opponent  there 
was  much  need  for  faith,  because  I  fell  into 
the  hands  of  a  perfectly  delightful  man  whom 
I  had  met  casually  in  the  street,  sitting  in  a 
chair  on  the  pavement,  smoking  a  huge  cigar. 
He  was  a  commercial  traveler,  and  his  beat 
lay  through  Southern  Mexico,  and  he  told  me 
tales,  of  forgotten  cities,  stone  gods  up  to  their 
sacred  eyes  in  forest  growth,  Mexican  priests, 
rebellions,  and  dictatorships,  that  made  my  hair 
curl.  It  was  he  who  dragged  me  forth  to 
bathe  in  Salt  Lake,  which  is  some  fifteen  miles 
away  from  the  city,  and  reachable  by  many 
trains  which  are  but  open  tram-cars.  The 
track,  like  all  American  tracks,  was  terrifying 
in  its  roughness  ;  and  the  end  of  the  journey 
disclosed  the  nakedness  of  the  accommoda 
tion.  There  were  piers  and  band  houses  aad 


American  Notes  195 

refreshment  stalls  built  over  the  solid  gray 
levels  of  the  lake,  but  they  only  accentuated 
the  utter  barrenness  of  the  place.  Americans 
don't  mix  with  their  scenery  as  yet. 

And  "  Have  faith,"  said  the  commercial 
traveler  as  he  walked  into  water  heavy  as 
quicksilver.  "  Walk  !  "  I  walked,  and  I  walked 
till  my  legs  flew  up  and  I  had  to  walk  as  one 
struggling  with  a  high  wind,  but  still  I  rode 
head  and  shoulders  above  the  water.  It  was 
a  horrible  feeling,  this  inability  to  sink. 
Swimming  was  not  much  use.  You  couldn't 
get  a  grip  of  the  water,  so  I  e'en  sat  me  down 
and  drifted  like  a  luxurious  anemone  among 
the  hundreds  that  were  bathing  in  that  place. 
You  could  wallow  for  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  in  that  warm,  sticky  brine  and  fear  no 
evil  consequences  ;  but  when  you  came  out 
you  were  coated  with  white  salt  from  top  to 
toe.  And  if  you  accidentally  swallowed  a 
mouthful  of  the  water,  you  died.  This  is  true, 
because  I  swallowed  half  a  mouthful  and  was 
half-dead  in  consequence. 

The  commercial  traveler  on  our  return 
journey  across  the  level  flats  that  fringe  the 
lake's  edge  bade  me  note  some  of  the  customs 
of  his  people.  The  great  open  railway  car 
held  about  a  hundred  men  and  maidens, 
"  coming  up  with  a  song  from  the  sea."  They 
sang  and  they  shouted  and  they  exchanged 
witticisms  of  the  most  poignant,  and  com 
ported  themselves  like  their  brothers  and  sis- 


196  American  Notes 

ters  over  the  seas — the  'Arries  and  'Arriets  of 
the  older  world.  And  there  sat  behind  me 
two  modest  maidens  in  white,  alone  and 
unattended.  To  these  the  privileged  youth  of 
the  car — a  youth  of  a  marvelous  range  of 
voice — proffered  undying  affection.  They 
laughed,  but  made  no  reply  in  words.  The 
suit  was  renewed,  and  with  extravagant  im 
agery  ;  the  nearest  seats  applauding.  When 
we  arrived  at  the  city  the  maidens  turned  and 
went  their  way  up  a  dark  tree-shaded  street, 
and  the  boys  elsewhere.  Whereat,  recollect 
ing  what  the  London  rough  was  like,  I  mar 
veled  that  they  did  not  pursue.  "  It's  all 
right,"  said  the  commercial  traveler.  "  If 
they  had  followed — well,  I  guess  some  one 
would  ha'  shot  'em."  The  very  next  day  on 
those  very  peaceful  cars  returning  from  the 
Lake  some  one  was  shot — dead.  He  was 
what  they  call  a  "  sport,"  which  is  American 
for  a  finished  "  leg,"  and  he  had  an  argument 
with  a  police  officer,  and  the  latter  slew  him. 
I  saw  his  funeral  go  down  the  main  street 
There  were  nearly  thirty  carriages,  filled  with 
doubtful  men,  and  women  not  in  the  least 
doubtful,  and  the  local  papers  said  that  de 
ceased  had  his  merits,  but  it  didn't  much 
matter,  because  if  the  Sheriff  hadn't  dropped 
him  he  would  assuredly  have  dropped  the 
Sheriff.  Somehow  this  jarred  on  my  sensitive 
feelings,  and  I  went  away,  though  the  commer 
cial  traveler  would  fain  have  entertained  me 


American  Notes  197 

in  his  own  house,  he  knowing  not  my  name. 
Twice  through  the  long  hot  nights  we  talked, 
tilting  up  our  chairs  on  the  sidewalk,  of  the 
future  of  America. 

You  should  hear  the  Saga  of  the  States 
reeled  off  by  a  young  and  enthusiastic  citizen 
who  had  just  carved  out  for  himself  a  home, 
filled  it  with  a  pretty  little  wife,  and  is  prepar 
ing  to  embark  on  commerce  on  his  own 
account.  I  was  tempted  to  believe  that  pistol- 
shots  were  regrettable  accidents  and  lawless 
ness  only  the  top  scum  on  the  great  sea  of 
humanity.  I  am  tempted  to  believe  that  still, 
though  baked  and  dusty  Utah  is  very  many 
miles  behind  me. 

Then  chance  threw  me  into  the  arms  of 
another  and  very  different  commercial  trav 
eler,  as  we  pulled  out  of  Utah  on  our  way  to 
Omaha  via  the  Rockies.  He  traveled  in 
biscuits,  of  which  more  anon,  and  Fate  had 
smitten  him  very  heavily,  having  at  one  stroke 
knocked  all  the  beauty  and  joy  out  of  his  poor 
life.  So  he  journeyed  with  a  case  of  samples 
as  one  dazed,  and  his  eyes  took  no  pleasure 
in  anything  that  he  saw.  In  his  despair  he 
had  withdrawn  himself  to  his  religion, — he 
was  a  Baptist, — and  spoke  of  its  consolation 
writh  the  artless  freedom  that  an  American 
generally  exhibits  when  he  is  talking  about  his 
most  sacred  private  affairs.  There  was  a 
desert  beyond  Utah,  hot  and  barren  as  Mian 
Mir  in  May.  The  sun  baked  the  car-roof,  and 


198  American  Notes 

the  dust  caked  the  windows,  and  through  the 
dust  and  the  glare  the  man  with  the  biscuits 
bore  witness  to  his  creed,  which  seems  to  in 
clude  one  of  the  greatest  miracles  in  the  world 
— the  immediate  unforeseen,  self-conscious 
redemption  of  the  soul  by  means  very  similar 
to  those  which  turned  Paul  to  the  straight 
path. 

"  You  must  experience  religion,"  he  repeated, 
his  mouth  twitching  and  his  eyes  black-ringed 
with  his  recent  loss.  "You  must  experience 
religion.  You  can't  tell  when  you're  goin*  to 
get,  or  haow ;  but  it  will  come — it  will  come, 
Sir,  like  a  lightning  stroke,  an*  you  will  wrestle 
with  yourself  before  you  receive  full  conviction 
and  assurance." 

"  How  long  does  that  take  ?  "  I  asked  rev 
erently. 

"  It  may  take  hours.  It  may  take  days.  I 
knew  a  man  in  San  Jo  who  lay  under  convic 
tion  for  a  month  an'  the  he  ^ot  the  sperrit— • 
as  you  must  git  it." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  And  then  you  are  saved.  You  feel  that, 
an*  you  kin  endure  anything,"  he  sighed. 
"  Yes,  anything.  I  don't  care  what  it  is,  though 
I  allow  that  some  things  are  harder  than 
others." 

"  Then  you  have  to  wait  for  the  miracle  to 
be  worked  by  powers  outside  yourself.  And 
if  the  miracle  doesn't  work  ?  " 

"  But  it  must.  I  tell  you  it  must.  It  comes 
to  all  who  profess  with  faith." 


American  Notes  199 

I  learned  a  good  deal  about  that  creed  as 
the  train  fled  on  ;  and  I  wondered  as  I  learned. 
It  was  a  strange  thing  to  watch  that  poor  hu 
man  soul,  broken  and  bowed  by  its  loss,  nerving 
itself  against  each  new  pang  of  pain  with  the 
iterated  assurance  that  it  was  safe  against  the 
pains  of  Hell. 

The  heat  was  stifling.  We  quitted  the 
desert  and  launched  into  the  rolling  green 
plains  of  Colorado.  Dozing  uneasily  with 
every  removable  rag  removed,  I  was  roused 
by  a  blast  of  intense  cold  and  the  drumming 
of  a  hundred  drums.  The  train  had  stopped. 
Far  as  the  eye  could  range  the  land  was  white 
under  two  feet  of  hail — each  hailstone  as  big 
as  the  top  of  a  sherry-glass.  I  saw  a  young 
colt  by  the  side  of  the  track  standing  with  his 
poor  little  fluffy  back  to  the  pitiless  pelting. 
He  was  pounded  to  death.  An  old  horse  met 
his  doom  on  the  run.  He  galloped  wildly 
towards  the  train,  but  his  hind  legs  dropped 
into  a  hole  half  water  and  half  ice.  He  beat 
the  ground  with  his  fore-feet  for  a  minute  and 
then  rolling  over  on  his  side  submitted  quietly 
to  be  killed. 

When  the  storm  ceased,  we  picked  our  way 
cautiously  and  crippledly  over  a  track  that 
might  give  way  at  any  moment.  The  Western 
driver  urges  his  train  much  as  does  the  Subal 
tern  the  bounding  pony,  and  'twould  seem 
with  an  equal  sense  of  responsibility.  If  a 
foot  does  go  wrong,  why  there  you  are,  don't 


2oo  American  Notes 

you  know,  and  if  it  is  all  right,  why  all  right 
it  is,  don't  you  know.  But  I  would  sooner  be 
on  the  pony  than  the  train. 

This  seems  a  good  place  wherein  to  preach 
X  on  American  versatility.  When  Mr.  Howells 
writes  a  novel,  when  a  reckless  hero  dams  a 
flood  by  heaving  a  dynamite-shattered  moun 
tain  into  it,  or  when  a  notoriety-hunting 
preacher  marries  a  couple  in  a  balloon,  you 
shall  hear  the  great  American  press  rise  on  its 
hind  legs  and  walk  round  mouthing  over  the 
versatility  of  the  American  citizen.  And  he 
is  versatile — horribly  so.  The  unlimited  ex 
ercise  of  the  right  of  private  judgment  (which, 
by  the  way,  is  a  weapon  not  one  man  in  ten  is 
competent  to  handle),  his  blatant  cocksure- 
ness,  and  the  dry-air-bred  restlessness  that 
makes  him  crawl  all  over  the  furniture  when 
he  is  talking  to  you,  conspire  to  make  him 
versatile.  But  what  he  calls  versatility  the 
impartial  bystander  of  Anglo-Indian  extraction 
is  apt  to  deem  mere  casualness,  and  dangerous 
casualness  at  that.  No  man  can  grasp  the 
inwardness  of  an  employ  by  the  light  of  pure 
reason — even  though  that  reason  be  republican. 
He  must  serve  an  apprenticeship  to  one  craft 
and  learn  that  craft  all  the  days  of  his  life  if 
he  wishes  to  excel  therein.  Otherwise  he 
merely  "  puts  the  thing  through  somehow ;  " 
and  occasionally  he  doesn't.  But  wherein  lies 
the  beauty  of  this  form  of  mental  suppleness  ? 
Old  man  California,  whom  I  shall  love  and 


American  Notes  201 

respect  always,  told  me  one  or  two  anecdotes 
about  American  versatility  and  its  conse 
quences  that  came  back  to  my  mind  with  dire 
ful  force  as  the  train  progressed.  We  didn't 
upset,  but  I  don't  think  that  that  was  the 
fault  of  the  driver  or  the  men  who  made  the 
track.  Take  up — you  can  easily  find  them — 
the  accounts  of  ten  consecutive  railway  catas 
trophes — not  little  accidents,  but  first-class 
fatalities,  when  the  long  cars  turn  over,  take 
fire,  and  roast  the  luckless  occupants  alive. 
To  seven  out  of  the  ten  you  shall  find  appended 
the  cheerful  statement :  "  The  accident  is 
supposed  to  have  been  due  the  rails  spreading." 
That  means  the  metals  were  spiked  down  to 
the  ties  with  such  versatility  that  the  spikes  or 
the  tracks  drew  under  the  constant  vibration 
of  the  traffic,  and  the  metals  opened  out.  No 
one  is  hanged  for  these  little  affairs. 

We  began  to  climb  hills,  and  then  we 
stopped — at  night  in  darkness,  while  men 
threw  sand  under  the  wheels  and  crowbarred 
the  track  and  then  "  guessed  "  that  we  might 
proceed.  Not  being  in  the  least  anxious  to 
face  my  Maker  half  asleep  and  rubbing  my 
eyes,  I  went  forward  to  a  common  car,  and 
was  rewarded  by  two  hours'  conversation  with 
the  stranded,  broken-down,  husband-aban 
doned  actress  of  a  fourth-rate,  stranded, 
broken-down,  manager-bereft  company.  She 
was  muzzy  with  beer,  reduced  to  her  last 
dollar,  fearful  that  there  would  be  no  one  to 


2O2  American  Notes 

meet  her  at  Omaha,  and  wept  at  intervals  be 
cause  she  had  given  the  conductor  a  five- 
dollar  bill  to  change,  and  he  hadn't  come  back. 
He  was  an  Irishman,  so  I  knew  he  couldn't 
steal,  and  I  addressed  myself  to  the  task  of 
consolation.  I  was  rewarded,  after  a  decent 
interval,  by  the  history  of  a  life  so  wild,  so 
mixed,  so  desperately  improbable,  and  yet  so 
simply  probable,  and  above  all  so  quick — not 
fast — in  its  kaleidoscopic  changes  that  the 
Pioneer  would  reject  any  summary  of  it.  And 
so  you  will  never  know  how  she,  the  beery 
woman  with  the  tangled  blond  hair,  was  once 
a  girl  on  a  farm  in  far-off  New  Jersey. 
How  he,  a  traveling  actor,  had  wooed  and 
won  her, — "  but  Paw  he  was  always  set 
against  Alf," — and  how  he  and  she  embarked 
all  their  little  capital  on  the  word  of  a  faith 
less  manager  who  disbanded  his  company  a 
hundred  miles  from  nowhere,  and  how  she 
and  Alf  and  a  third  person  who  had  not 
yet  made  any  noise  in  the  world,  had  to 
walk  the  railway-track  and  beg  from  the  farm 
houses  ;  how  that  third  person  arrived  and 
went  away  again  with  a  wail,  and  how  Alf 
took  to  the  whisky  and  other  things  still  more 
calculated  to  make  a  wife  unhappy ;  and  how 
after  barn-stormings,  insults,  shooting-scrapes, 
and  pitiful  collapses  of  poor  companies  she 
had  once  won  an  encore.  It  was  not  a  cheer 
ful  tale  to  listen  to.  There  was  a  real  ac 
tress  in  the  Pullman, — such  an  one  as  travels 


American  Notes  203 

sumptuously  with  a  maid  and  dressing-case, 
— and  my  draggle-tail  thought  of  appealing  to 
her  for  help,  but  broke  down  after  several  at 
tempts  to  walk  into  the  car  jauntily  as  befitted 
a  sister  in  the  profession.  Then  the  con 
ductor  reappeared, — the  five-dollar  bill  hon 
estly  changed, — and  she  wept  by  reason  of 
beer  and  gratitude  together,  and  then  fell 
asleep  waveringly,  alone  in  the  car,  and  be 
came  almost  beautiful  and  quite  kissable ; 
while  the  Man  with  the  Sorrow  stood  at 
the  door  between  actress  and  actress  and 
preached  grim  sermons  on  the  certain  end  of 
each  if  they  did  not  mend  their  ways  and 
find  regeneration  through  the  miracle  of  the 
Baptist  creed.  Yes,  we  were  a  queer  com 
pany  going  up  to  the  Rockies  together.  I 
was  the  luckiest,  because  when  a  breakdown 
occurred,  and  we  were  delayed  for  twelve 
hours,  I  ate  all  the  Baptist's  sample-biscuits. 
They  were  various  in  composition,  but  nour 
ishing.  Always  travel  with  a  "  drummer." 


204  American  Notes 


XIII. 

AFTER  much  dallying  and  more  climbing 
we  came  to  a  pass  like  all  the  Bolan  Passes  in 
the  world,  and  the  Black  Canon  of  the  Gun- 
nison  called  they  it.  We  had  been  climbing 
for  very  many  hours,  and  attained  a  modest 
elevation  of  some  seven  or  eight  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea,  when  we  entered  a  gorge, 
remote  from  the  sun,  where  the  rocks  were 
two  thousand  feet  sheer,  and  where  a  rock- 
splintered  river  roared  and  howled  ten  feet 
below  a  track  which  seemed  to  have  been 
built  on  the  simple  principle  of  dropping  mis 
cellaneous  dirt  into  the  river  and  pinning  a 
few  rails  a-top.  There  was  a  glory  and  a  won 
der  and  a  mystery  about  that  mad  ride  which 
I  felt  keenly  (you  will  find  it  properly  dressed 
up  in  the  guide-books),  until  I  had  to  offer 
prayers  for  the  safety  of  the  train.  There 
was  no  hope  of  seeing  the  track  two  hundred 
yards  ahead.  We  seemed  to  be  running  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth  at  the  invitation  of  an 
irresponsible  stream.  Then  the  solid  rock 
would  open  and  disclose  a  curve  of  awful 
twistfulness.  Then  the  driver  put  on  all 
steam,  and  we  would  go  round  that  curve  on 
one  wheel  chiefly,  the  Gunnison  River  gnash 
ing  its  teeth  below.  The  cars  overhung  the 


American  Notes  205 

edge  of  the  water,  and  if  a  single  one  of  the 
rails  had  chosen  to  spread,  nothing  in  the 
wide  world  could  have  saved  us  from  drown 
ing.  I  knew  we  should  damage  something  in 
the  end — the  somber  horrors  of  the  gorge,  the 
rush  of  the  jade-green  water  below,  and  the 
cheerful  tales  told  by  the  conductor  made  me 
certain  of  the  catastrophe. 

We  had  just  cleared  the  Elack  Canon  and 
another  gorge,  and  were  sailing  out  into  open 
country  nine  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  sea,  when  we  came  most  suddenly  round 
a  corner  upon  a  causeway  across  a  waste 
water — half  dam  and  half  quarry-pool.  The 
locomotive  gave  one  wild  "  Hoo  !  Hoo  I 
Hoo !  "  but  it  was  too  late.  He  was  a  beauti 
ful  bull,  and  goodness  only  knows  why  he  had 
chosen  the  track  for  a  constitutional  with  his 
wife.  She  was  flung  to  the  left,  but  the  cow 
catcher  caught  him,  and  turning  him  round, 
heaved  him  shoulder  deep  into  the  pool.  The 
expression  of  blank,  blind  bewilderment  on 
his  bovine,  jovine  face  was  wonderful  to  be 
hold.  He  was  not  angry.  I  don't  think  he 
was  even  scared,  though  he  must  have  flown 
ten  yards  through  the  air.  All  he  wanted  to 
know  was :  "  Will  somebody  have  the  good 
ness  to  tell  a  respectable  old  gentleman  what 
in  the  world,  or  out  of  it,  has  occurred?" 
And  five  minutes  later  the  stream  that  had 
been  snapping  at  our  heels  in  the  gorges  split 
itself  into  a  dozen  silver  threads  on  a  breezy 


206  American  Notes 

upland,  and  became  an  innocent  trout  beck, 
and  we  halted  at  a  half-dead  city,  the  name  of 
which  does  not  remain  with  me.  It  had 
originally  been  built  on  the  crest  of  a  wave  of 
prosperity.  Once  ten  thousand  people  had 
walked  its  street ;  but  the  boom  had  collapsed. 
The  great  brick  houses  and  the  factories  were 
empty.  The  population  lived  in  little  timber 
shanties  on  the  fringes  of  the  deserted  town. 
There  were  some  railway  workshops  and 
things,  and  the  hotel  (whose  pavement  formed 
the  platform  of  the  railway)  contained  one 
hundred  and  more  rooms — empty.  The 
place,  in  its  half-inhabitedness,  was  more 
desolate  than  Amber  or  Chitor.  But  a  man 
said :  "  Trout — six  pounds — two  miles  away," 
and  the  Sorrowful  Man  and  myself  went  in 
search  of  'em.  The  town  was  ringed  by  a 
circle  of  hills  all  alive  with  little  thunder 
storms  that  broke  across  the  soft  green  of  the 
plain  in  wisps  and  washes  of  smoke  and 
amber. 

To  our  tiny  party  associated  himself  a 
lawyer  from  Chicago.  We  foregathered  on 
the  question  of  flies,  but  I  didn't  expect  to 
meet  Elijah  Pogram  in  the  flesh.  He  de 
livered  orations  on  the  future  of  England  and 
America,  and  of  the  Great  Federation  that 
the  years  will  bring  forth  when  America  and 
England  will  belt  the  globe  with  their  linked 
hands.  According  to  the  notions  of  the 
British,  he  made  an  ass  of  himself,  but  for  al! 


American  Notes  207 

his  high-falutin  he  talked  sense.  I  might 
knock  through  England  on  a  four  months' 
tour  and  not  find  a  man  capable  of  putting 
into  words  the  passionate  patriotism  that 
possessed  the  little  Chicago  lawyer.  And  he 
was  a  man  with  points,  for  he  offered  me 
three  days'  shooting  in  Illinois,  if  I  would 
step  out  of  my  path  a  little.  I  might  travel 
for  ten  years  up  and  down  England  ere  I 
found  a  man  who  would  give  a  complete 
stranger  so  much  as  a  sandwich,  and  for 
twenty  ere  I  squeezed  as  much  enthusiasm 
out  of  a  Britisher.  He  and  I  talked  politics 
and  trout-flies  all  one  sultry  day  as  we  wan 
dered  up  and  down  the  shallows  of  the  stream 
aforesaid.  Little  fish  are  sweet.  I  spent 
two  hours  whipping  a  ripple  for  a  fish  that  I 
knew  was  there,  and  in  the  pasture-scented 
dusk  caught  a  three-pounder  on  a  ragged  old 
brown  hackle  and  landed  him  after  ten  min 
utes'  excited  argument.  He  was  a  beauty. 
If  ever  any  man  works  the  Western  trout- 
streams,  he  would  do  well  to  bring  out  with 
him  the  dingiest  flies  he  possesses.  The  na 
tives  laugh  at  the  tiny  English  hooks,  but  they 
hold,  and  duns  and  drabs  and  sober  grays 
seem  to  tickle  the  aesthetic  tastes  of  the  trout. 
For  salmon  (but  don't  say  that  I  told  you) 
use  the  spoon — gold  on  one  side,  silver  on  the 
other.  It  is  as  killing  as  is  a  similar  article  with 
fish  of  another  calibre.  The  natives  seem  to 
use  much  too  coarse  tackle. 


208  American  Notes 

It  was  a  search  for  a  small  boy  who  should 
know  the  river  that  revealed  to  me  a  new 
phase  of  life — slack,  slovenly,  and  shiftless, 
but  very  interesting.  There  was  a  family  in 
a  packing-case  hut  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town.  They  had  seen  the  city  when  it  was  on 
the  boom  and  made  pretense  of  being  the 
metropolis  of  the  Rockies ;  and  when  the 
boom  was  over,  they  did  not  go.  She  was 
affable,  but  deeply  coated  with  dirt ;  he  was 
grim  and  grimy,  and  the  little  children  were 
•simply  caked  with  filth  of  various  descriptions. 
But  they  lived  in  a  certain  sort  of  squalid 
luxury,  six  or  eight  of  them  in  two  rooms ; 
and  they  enjoyed  the  local  society.  It  was 
their  eight-year-old  son  whom  I  tried  to  take 
out  with  me,  but  he  had  been  catching  trout 
all  his  life  and  "  guessed  he  didn't  feel  like 
coming,"  though  I  proffered  him  six  shillings 
for  what  ought  to  have  been  a  day's  pleasuring. 
"  I'll  stay  with  Maw,"  he  said,  and  from  that 
attitude  I  could  not  move  him.  Maw  didn't 
attempt  to  argue  with  him.  "  If  he  says  he 
won't  come,  he  won't,"  she  said,  as  though 
'he  were  one  of  the  elemental  forces  of  nature 
instead  of  a  spankable  brat ;  and  "  Paw," 
lounging  by  the  store,  refused  to  interfere. 
Maw  told  me  that  she  had  been  a  school 
teacher  in  her  not-so-distant  youth,  but  did 
not  tell  me  what  I  was  dying  to  know — how 
•she  arrived  at  this  mucky  tenement  at  the 
back  of  beyond,  and  why.  Though  preserv- 


American  Notes  209 

ing  the  prettiness  of  her  New  England  speech, 
she  had  come  to  regard  washing  as  a  luxury. 
Paw  chewed  tobacco  and  spat  from  time  to 
time.  Yet,  when  he  opened  his  mouth  for 
other  purposes,  he  spoke  like  a  well-educated 
man.  There  was  a  story  there,  but  I  couldn't 
get  at  it. 

Next  day  the  Man  with  the  Sorrow  and 
myself  and  a  few  others  began  the  real  ascent 
of  the  Rockies  ;  up  to  that  time  our  climbing 
didn't  count.  The  train  ran  violently  up  a 
steep  place  and  was  taken  to  pieces.  Five 
cars  were  hitched  on  to  two  locomotives,  and 
two  cars  to  one  locomotive.  This  seemed  to 
be  a  kind  and  thoughtful  act,  but  I  was  idiot 
enough  to  go  forward  and  watch  the  coupling- 
on  of  the  two  rear  cars  in  which  Caesar  and 
his  fortunes  were  to  travel.  Some  one  had  lost 
or  eaten  the  regularly  ordained  coupling,  and  a 
man  picked  up  from  the  tailboard  of  the  engine 
a  single  iron  link  about  as  thick  as  a  fetter- 
link  watch-chain,  and  "guessed  it  would  do." 
Get  hauled  up  a  Simla  cliff  by  the  hook  of  a 
lady's  parasol  if  you  wish  to  appreciate  my 
sentiments  when  the  cars  moved  uphill  and 
the  link  drew  tight.  Miles  away  and  two 
thousand  feet  above  our  heads  rose  the 
shoulder  of  a  hill  epauletted  with  the  long  line 
of  a  snow-tunnel.  The  first  section  of  the 
cars  crawled  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  of  us, 
the  track  snaked  and  looped  behind,  and 
there  was  a  black  drop  to  the  left.  So  •vre 


2io  American  Notes 

went  up  and  up  and  up  till  the  thin  air  grew 
thinner  and  the  chunk-chunk-chunk  of  the 
laboring  locomotive  was  answered  by  the 
oppressed  beating  of  the  exhausted  heart. 
Through  the  checked  light  and  shade  of  the 
snow  tunnels  (horrible  caverns  of  rude  tim 
bering)  we  ground  our  way,  halting  now  and 
again  to  allow  a  down-train  to  pass.  One 
monster  of  forty  mineral  cars  slid  past,  scarce 
held  by  four  locomotives,  their  brakes  scream 
ing  and  chortling  in  chorus ;  and  in  the  end, 
after  a  glimpse  at  half  America  spread  map- 
wise  leagues  below  us,  we  halted  at  the  head 
of  the  longest  snow  tunnel  of  all,  on  the  crest 
of  the  divide,  between  ten  and  eleven  thou 
sand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  The 
locomotive  wished  to  draw  breath,  and  the 
passengers  to  gather  the  flowers  that  nodded 
impertinently  through  the  chinks  of  the  board 
ing.  A  lady  passenger's  nose  began  to  bleed, 
and  other  ladies  threw  themselves  down  on 
the  seats  and  gasped  with  the  gasping  train, 
while  a  wind  as  keen  as  a  knife-edge  rioted 
down  the  grimy  tunnel. 

Then,  despatching  a  pilot-engine  to  clear 
the  way,  we  began  the  downward  portion  of 
the  journey  with  every  available  brake  on, 
and  frequent  shrieks,  till  after  some  hours  we 
reached  the  level  plain,  and  later  the  city  of 
Denver,  where  the  Man  with  the  Sorrow  went 
his  way  and  left  me  to  journey  on  to  Omaha 
alone,  after  one  hasty  glance  at  Denver.  The 


American  Notes  211 

pulse  of  that  town  was  too  like  the  rushing 
mighty  wind  in  the  Rocky  Mountain  tunneL 
It  made  me  tired  because  complete  strangers 
desired  me  to  do  something  to  mines  which 
were  in  mountains,  and  to  purchase  building 
blocks  upon  inaccessible  cliffs  ;  and  once,  a 
woman  urged  that  I  should  supply  her  with 
strong  drinks.  I  had  almost  forgotten  that 
such  attacks  were  possible  in  any  land,  for 
the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  public  mor 
ality  in  American  towns  are  generally  safe 
guarded.  For  that  I  respect  this  people, 
Omaha,  Nebraska,  was  but  a  halting-place  on 
the  road  to  Chicago,  but  it  revealed  to  me 
horrors  that  I  would  not  willingly  have  missed. 
The  city  to  casual  investigation  seemed  to  be 
populated  entirely  by  Germans,  Poles,  Slavs, 
Hungarians,  Croats,  Magyars,  and  all  the 
scum  of  the  Eastern  European  States,  but  it 
must  have  been  laid  out  by  Americans.  No 
other  people  would  cut  the  traffic  of  a  main 
street  with  two  streams  of  railway  lines,  each 
some  eight  or  nine  tracks  wide,  and  cheer- 
fully  drive  tram-cars  across  the  metals.  Every 
now  and  again  they  have  horrible  railway 
crossing  accidents  at  Omaha,  but  nobody 
seems  to  think  of  building  an  overhead- 
bridge.  That  would  interfere  with  the  vested 
interests  of  the  undertakers. 

Be  blessed  to  hear  some  details  of  one  oi 
that  class. 

There  was  a  shop  the  like  of  which  I  hawf 


212  American  Notes 

never  seen  before  :  its  windows  were  filled 
with  dress-coats  for  men,  and  dresses  for 
women.  But  the  studs  of  the  shirts  were 
made  of  stamped  cloth  upon  the  shirt  front, 
and  there  were  no  trousers  to  those  coats — 
nothing  but  a  sweep  of  cheap  black  cloth 
falling  like  an  abbe's  frock.  In  the  doorway 
$at  a  young  man  reading  Pollock's  Course  of 
'Time,  and  by  that  I  knew  that  he  was  an 
undertaker.  His  name  was  Gring,  which  is  a 
beautiful  name,  and  I  talked  to  him  on  the  mys- 
.  teries  of  his  Craft.  He  was  an  enthusiast  and 
an  artist.  I  told  him  how  corpses  were  burnt 
in  India.  Said  he :  "  We're  vastly  superior. 
We  hold — that  is  to  say,  embalm — our  dead. 
So  !  "  Whereupon  he  produced  the  horrible 
weapons  of  his  trade,  and  most  practically 
showed  me  how  you  "  held  "  a  man  back  from 
that  corruption  which  is  his  birthright.  "  And 
I  wish  I  could  live  a  few  generations  just  to 
see  how  my  people  keep.  But  I'm  sure  it's 
all  right.  Nothing  can  touch  'em  after  /'ve 
embalmed  'em."  Then  he  displayed  one  of 
those  ghastly  dress-suits,  and  when  I  laid  a 
shuddering  hand  upon  it,  behold  it  crumpled 
to  nothing,  for  the  white  linen  was  sewn  on  to 
the  black  cloth  and — there  was  no  back  to  it! 
That  was  the  horror.  The  garment  was  a 
shell.  "  We  dress  a  man  in  that,"  said  Gring, 
laying  it  out  tastily  on  the  counter.  "  As  you 
see  here,  our  caskets  have  a  plate-glass  win 
dow  in  front  "  (Oh  me,  but  that  window  in 


American  Notes  213 

t.he  coffin  was  fitted  with  plush  like  a  brough 
am-window  !),  "  and  you  don't  see  anything 
below  the  level  of  the  man's  waistcoat.  Con 
sequently.  .  .  ."  He  unrolled  the  terrible 
cheap  black  cloth  that  falls  down  over  the 
stark  feet,  and  I  jumped  back.  "  Of  course 
a  man  can  be  dressed  in  his  own  clothes  if  he 
likes,  but  these  are  the  regular  things :  and 
for  women  look  at  this  !  "  He  took  up  the 
body  of  a  high-necked  dinner-dress  in  sub 
dued  lilac,  slashed  and  puffed  and  bedeviled 
with  black,  but,  like  the  dress-suit,  backless, 
and  below  the  waist  turning  to  shroud. 
"  That's  for  an  old  maid.  But  for  a  young 
girl  we  give  white  with  imitation  pearls  round 
the  neck.  That  looks  very  pretty  through 
the  window  of  the  casket — you  see  there's  a 
cushion  for  the  head — with  flowers  banked  all 
round.'*  Can  you  imagine  anything  more 
awful  than  to  take  your  last  rest  as  much  of  a 
dead  fraud  as  ever  you  were  a  living  lie — to 
go  into  the  darkness  one-half  of  you  shaved, 
trimmed  and  dressed  for  an  evening  party, 
while  the  other  half — the  half  that  your  friends 
cannot  see — is  enwrapped  in  a  flapping  black 
sheet  ? 

I  know  a  little  about  burial  customs  in 
various  places  in  the  world,  and  I  tried  hard 
to  make  Mr.  Gring  comprehend  dimly  the 
awful  heathendom  that  he  was  responsible  for 
— the  grotesquerie — the  giggling  horror  of  it 
all  But  he  couldn't  see  it.  Even  when  he 


214  American  Notes 

showed  me  a  little  boy's  last  suit,  he 
couldn't  see  it.  He  said  it  was  quite 
right  to  embalm  and  trick  out  and  hypo 
critically  bedizen  the  poor  innocent  dead  in 
their  superior  cushioned  and  pillowed  caskets 
with  the  window  in  front. 

Bury  me  cased  in  canvas  like  a  fishing-rod, 
in  the  deep  sea ;  burn  me  on  a  back-water  of 
the  Hugli  with  damp  wood  and  no  oil ;  pin 
me  under  a  Pullman  car  and  let  the  lighted 
stove  do  its  worst;  sizzle  me  with  a  fallen 
electric  wire  or  whelm  me  in  the  sludge  of  a 
broken  river  dam ;  but  may  I  never  go  down 
to  the  Pit  grinning  out  of  a  plate-glass  win 
dow,  in  a  backless  dress-coat,  and  the  front 
half  of  a  black  stuff  dressing-gown ;  not 
though  I  were  "  held  "  against  the  ravage  of 
the  grave  for  ever  and  ever.  Amen  1 


American  Notes  21$ 


XIV. 

44  I  know  thy  cunning  and  thy  greed, 
Thy  hard,  high  lust  and  wilful  deed, 
And  all  thy  glory  loves  to  tell 
Of  specious  gifts  material." 

I  HAVE  struck  a  city, — a  real  city, — and  they 
call  it  Chicago.  The  other  places  do  not 
count.  San  Francisco  was  a  pleasure-resort 
as  well  as  a  city,  and  Salt  Lake  was  a  phe 
nomenon.  This  place  is  the  first  American 
city  I  have  encountered.  It  holds  rather 
more  than  a  million  people  with  bodies,  and 
stands  on  the  same  sort  of  soil  as  Calcutta. 
Having  seen  it,  I  urgently  desire  never  to  see 
it  again.  It  is  inhabited  by  savages.  Its 
water  is  the  water  of  the  Hugli,  and  its  air  is 
dirt.  Also  it  says  that  it  is  the  "  boss  "  town 
of  America. 

I  do  not  believe  that  it  has  anything  to  do 
with  this  country.  They  told  me  to  go  to  the 
Palmer  House,  which  is  a  gilded  and  mirrored 
rabbit-warren,  and  there  I  found  a  huge  hall 
of  tessellated  marble,  crammed  with  people 
talking  about  money  and  spitting  about  every 
where.  Other  barbarians  charged  in  and  out 
of  this  inferno  with  letters  and  telegrams  in 
their  hands,  and  yet  others  shouted  at  each 
other.  A  man. who  had  drunk  quite  as  much 


216  American  Notes 

as  was  good  for  him  told  me  that  this  was 
"  the  finest  hotel  in  the  finest  city  on  God  Al 
mighty's  earth."  By  the  way,  when  an 
American  wishes  to  indicate  the  next  county 
or  State  he  says,  "  God  A'mighty's  earth." 
This  prevents  discussion  and  flatters  his 
vanity. 

Then  I  went  out  into  the  streets,  which  are 
long  and  flat  and  without  end.  And  verily  it 
is  not  a  good  thing  to  live  in  the  East  for  any 
length  of  time.  Your  ideas  grow  to  clash 
with  those  held  by  every  right-thinking  white 
man.  I  looked  down  interminable  vistas 
flanked  with  nine,  ten,  and  fifteen  storied 
houses,  and  crowded  with  men  and  women, 
and  the  show  impressed  me  with  a  great  hor 
ror.  Except  in  London — and  I  have  forgot 
ten  what  London  is  like — I  had  never  seen  so 
many  white  people  together,  and  never  such  a 
collection  of  miserables.  There  was  no  color 
in  the  street  and  no  beauty — only  a  maze  of 
wire-ropes  overhead  and  dirty  stone  flagging 
underfoot.  A  cab-driver  volunteered  to  show 
me  the  glory  of  the  town  for  so  much  an  hour, 
and  with  him  I  wandered  far.  He  conceived 
that  all  this  turmoil  and  squash  was  a  thing  to 
be  reverently  admired ;  that  it  was  good  to 
huddle  men  together  in  fifteen  layers,  one 
atop  of  the  other,  and  to  dig  holes  in  the 
ground  for  offices.  He  said  that  Chicago 
was  a  live  town,  and  that  all  the  creatures 
hurrying  by  me  were  engaged  in  business. 


American  Notes  217 

That  is  to  say,  they  were  trying  to  make 
some  money,  that  they  might  not  die 
through  lack  of  food  to  put  into  their  bel 
lies.  He  took  me  to  canals,  black  as  ink, 
and  filled  with  untold  abominations,  and  bade 
me  watch  the  stream  of  traffic  across  the 
bridges.  He  then  took  me  into  a  saloon,  and, 
while  I  drank,  made  me  note  that  the  floor  was 
covered  with  coins  sunk  into  cement.  A 
Hottentot  would  not  have  been  guilty  of  this 
sort  of  barbarism.  The  coins  made  an  effect 
pretty  enough,  but  the  man  who  put  them 
there  had  no  thought  to  beauty,  and  therefore 
he  was  a  savage.  Then  my  cab-driver  showed 
me  business-blocks,  gay  with  signs  and  studded 
with  fantastic  and  absurd  advertisements  of 
goods,  and  looking  down  the  long  street  so 
adorned  it  was  as  though  each  vender  stood 
at  his  door  howling  :  "  For  the  sake  of  money, 
employ  or  buy  of  me  and  me  only  !  "  Have 
you  ever  seen  a  crowd  at  our  famine  relief 
distributions  ?  You  know  then  how  men  leap 
into  the  air,  stretching  out  their  arms  above 
the  crowd  in  the  hope  of  being  seen  ;  while 
the  women  dolorously  slap  the  stomachs  of 
their  children  and  whimper.  I  had  sooner 
watch  famine-relief  than  the  white  man  en 
gaged  in  what  he  calls  legitimate  competition. 
The  one  I  understand.  The  other  makes  me 
ill.  And  the  cabman  said  that  these  things 
were  the  proof  of  progress  ;  and  by  that  I 
knew  he  had  been  reading  his  newspaper, 


218  American  Notes 

as  every  intelligent  American  should.  Thu 
papers  tell  their  readers  in  language  fitted  to 
their  comprehension  that  the  snarling  together 
of  telegraph  wires,  the  heaving  up  of  houses, 
and  the  making  of  money  is  progress. 

I  spent  ten  hours  in  that  huge  wilderness, 
wandering  through  scores  of  miles  of  these 
terrible  streets,  and  jostling  some  few  hundred 
thousand  of  these  terrible  people  who  talked 
money  through  their  noses.  The  cabman  left 
me  :  but  after  a  while  I  picked  up  another  man 
who  was  full  of  figures,  and  into  my  ears  he 
poured  them  as  occasion  required  or  the  big 
blank  factories  suggested.  Here  they  turned 
out  so  many  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  such  and  such  an  article ;  there  so  many 
million  other  things  ;  this  house  was  worth  so 
many  million  dollars  ;  that  one  so  many  mil 
lion  more  or  less.  It  was  like  listening  to  a 
child  babbling  of  its  hoard  of  shells.  It  was 
like  watching  a  fool  playing  with  buttons.  But 
I  was  expected  to  do  more  than  listen  or 
watch.  He  demanded  that  I  should  admire  ; 
and  the  utmost  that  I  could  say  was  :  "  Are 
these  things  so  ?  Then  I  am  very  sorry  for 
you."  That  made  him  angry,  and  he  said 
that  insular  envy  made  me  unresponsive.  So 
you  see  I  could  not  make  him  understand. 

About  four  and  a  half  hours  after  Adam  was 
turned  out  of  the  garden  of  Eden  he  felt  hun 
gry,  and  so,  bidding  Eve  take  care  that  her 
head  was  not  broken  by  the  descending  fruit, 


American  Notes  219 

shinned  up  a  cocoanut  palm.  That  hurt  his 
legs,  cut  his  breast,  and  made  him  breathe 
heavily,  and  Eve  was  tormented  with  fear  lest 
her  lord  should  miss  his  footing  and  so  bring 
the  tragedy  of  this  world  to  an  end  ere  the 
curtain  had  fairly  risen.  Had  I  met  Adam 
then,  I  should  have  been  sorry  for  him.  To 
day  I  find  eleven  hundred  thousand  of  his 
sons  just  as  far  advanced  as  their  father  in  the 
art  of  getting  food,  and  immeasurably  inferior 
to  him  in  that  they  think  that  their  palm-trees 
lead  straight  to  the  skies.  Consequently  I  am 
sorry  in  rather  more  than  a  million  different 
ways.  In  our  East  bread  comes  naturally 
«ven  to  the  poorest  by  a  little  scratching  or 
the  gift  of  a  friend  not  quite  so  poor.  In  less 
favored  countries  one  is  apt  to  forget.  Then 
I  went  to  bed.  And  that  was  on  a  Saturday 
night. 

Sunday  brought  me  the  queerest  experience 
•of  all — a  revelation  of  barbarism  complete.  I 
iound  a  place  that  was  officially  described  as 
a  church.  It  was  a  circus  really,  but  that  the 
^worshipers  did  not  know.  There  were  flow 
ers  all  about  the  building,  which  was  fitted  up 
with  plush  and  stained  oak  and  much  luxury, 
including  twisted  brass  candlesticks  of  severest 
Gothic  design.  To  these  things,  and  a  con- 
;gregation  of  savages,  entered  suddenly  a 
wonderful  man  completely  in  the  confidence  of 
their  God,  whom  he  treated  colloquially  and 
•exploited  very  much  as  a  newspaper  reporter 


22O  American  Notes 

would  exploit  a  foreign  potentate.  But,  un 
like  the  newspaper  reporter,  he  never  allowed 
his  listeners  to  forget  that  he  and  not  He  was 
the  center  of  attraction.  With  a  voice  of  silver 
and  with  imagery  borrowed  from  the  auction- 
room,  he  built  up  for  his  hearers  a  heaven  on 
the  lines  of  the  Palmer  House  (but  with  all 
the  gilding  real  gold  and  all  the  plate-glass 
diamond)  and  set  in  the  center  of  it  a  loud- 
voiced,  argumentative,  and  very  shrewd  crea 
tion  that  he  called  God.  One  sentence  at  this 
point  caught  my  delighted  ear.  It  was  apro 
pos  of  some  question  of  the  Judgment  Day  and 
ran  :  "  No  !  I  tell  you  God  doesn't  do  business 
that  way."  He  was  giving  them  a  deity  whom 
they  could  comprehend,  in  a  gold  and  jewel 
heaven  in  which  they  could  take  a  natural  in 
terest.  He  interlarded  his  performance  with 
the  slang  of  the  streets,  the  counter,  and  the 
Exchange,  and  he  said  that  religion  ought  to 
enter  into  daily  life.  Consequently  I  presume 
he  introduced  it  as  daily  life — his  own  and  the 
life  of  his  friends. 

Then  I  escaped  before  the  blessing,  desiring 
no  benediction  at  such  hands.  But  the  per 
sons  who  listened  seemed  to  enjoy  themselves, 
and  I  understood  that  I  had  met  with  a  popu 
lar  preacher.  Later  on  when  I  had  perused 
the  sermons  of  a  gentleman  called  Talmage 
and  some  others,  I  perceived  that  I  had  been 
listening  to  a  very  mild  specimen.  Yet  that 
man,  with  his  brutal  gold  and  silver  idols,  his 


American  Notes.  221 

hands-in-pocket,  cigar-in-mouth,  and  hat-on- 
the-back-of-the-head  style  of  dealing  with  the 
sacred  vessels  would  count  himself  spiritually 
quite  competent  to  send  a  mission  to  convert 
the  Indians.  All  that  Sunday  I  listened  to 
people  who  said  that  the  mere  fact  of  spiking 
down  strips  of  iron  to  wood  and  getting  a 
steam  and  iron  thing  to  run  along  them  was 
progress.  That  the  telephone  was  progress, 
and  the  network  of  wires  overhead  was  prog 
ress.  They  repeated  their  statements  again 
and  again.  One  of  them  took  me  to  their 
city  hall  and  board  of  trade  works  and  pointed 
it  out  with  pride.  It  was  very  ugly,  but  very 
big,  and  the  streets  in  front  of  it  were  narrow 
and  unclean.  When  I  saw  the  faces  of  the 
men  who  did  business  in  that  building  I  felt 
that  there  had  been  a  mistake  in  their  billet 
ing. 

By  the  way,  'tis  a  consolation  to  feel  that  I 
am  not  writing  to  an  English  audience.  Then 
should  I  have  to  fall  into  feigned  ecstasies 
over  the  marvelous  progress  of  Chicago  since 
the  days  of  the  great  fire,  to  allude  casually  to 
the  raising  of  the  entire  city  so  many  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  lake  which  it  faces,  and 
generally  to  grovel  before  the  golden  calf. 
But  you,  who  are  desperately  poor,  and  there 
fore  by  these  standards  of  no  account,  know 
things,  and  will  understand  when  I  write  that 
they  have  managed  to  get  a  million  of  men 
together  on  flat  land,  and  that  the  bulk  o£ 


222  American  Notes 

these  men  appear  to  be  lower  than  mahajans 
and  not  so  companionable  as  a  punjabi/0/ 
after  harvest.  But  I  don't  think  it  was  the 
blind  hurry  of  the  people,  their  argot,  and  their 
grand  ignorance  of  things  beyond  their  imme 
diate  interests  that  displeased  me  so  much  as 
a  study  of  the  daily  papers  of  Chicago.  Im 
primis,  there  was  some  sort  of  dispute  between 
New  York  and  Chicago  as  to  which  town 
should  give  an  exhibition  of  products  to  be 
hereafter  holden,  and  through  the  medium  of 
their  more  dignified  journals  the  two  cities 
were  ya-hooing  and  hi-yi-ing  at  each  other  like 
opposition  newsboys.  They  called  it  humor, 
but  it  sounded  like  something  quite  different. 
That  was  only  the  first  trouble.  The  second 
lay  in  the  tone  of  the  productions.  Leading 
articles  which  include  gems  such  as  :  "  Back 
of  such  and  such  a  place,"  or  "  We  noticed, 
Tuesday,  such  an  event,"  or  "  don't "  for 
"  does  not "  are  things  to  be  accepted  with 
thankfulness.  All  that  made  me  want  to  cry 
was  that,  in  these  papers,  were  faithfully  re 
produced  all  the  war-cries  ind  "  back-talk  "of 
the  Palmer  House  bar,  the  slang  of  the  bar 
bers'  shops,  the  mental  elevation  and  integrity 
of  the  Pullman-car  porter,  the  dignity  of  the 
Dime  Museum,  and  the  accuracy  of  the  ex 
cited  fishwife.  I  am  sternly  forbidden  to  be 
lieve  that  the  paper  educates  the  public  ? 
Just  when  the  sense  of  unreality  and  op« 


America!    Notes  223 

pression  were  strongest  upon  me,  and  when  I 
most  wanted  help,  a  man  sat  at  my  side  and 
began  to  talk  what  he  called  politics.  I  had 
chanced  to  pay  about  six  shillings  for  a 
traveling-cap  worth  eighteen  pence,  and  he 
made  of  the  fact  a  text  for  a  sermon.  He  said 
that  this  was  a  rich  country  and  that  the  peo 
ple  liked  to  pay  two  hundred  per  cent,  on  the 
value  of  a  thing.  They  could  afford  it.  He 
said  that  the  Government  imposed  a  protective 
duty  of  from  ten  to  seventy  per  cent,  on  foreign- 
made  articles,  and  that  the  American  manu 
facturer  consequently  could  sell  his  goods  for 
a  healthy  sum.  Thus  an  imported  hat  would, 
with  duty,  cost  two  guineas.  The  American 
manufacturer  would  make  a  hat  for  seventeen 
shillings  and  sell  it  for  one  pound  fifteen.  In 
these  things,  he  said,  lay  the  greatness  of 
America  and  the  effeteness  of  England. 
Competition  between  factory  and  factory  kept 
the  prices  down  to  decent  limits,  but  I  was 
never  to  forget  that  this  people  were  a  rich 
people,  not  like  the  pauper  Continentals,  and 
that  they  enjoyed  paying  duties.  To  my  weak 
intellect  this  seemed  rather  like  Juggling  with 
counters.  Everything  that  I  have  yet  pur 
chased  costs  about  twice  as  much  as  it  would 
in  England,  and  when  native-made  is  of  inferior 
quality.  Moreover,  since  these  lines  were 
first  thought  of  I  have  visited  a  gentleman 
who  owned  a  factory  which  used  to  produce 
things.  He  owned  the  factory  still.  Not  a 


224  American  Notes 

man  was  in  it,  but  he  was  drawing  a  handsome 
income  from  a  syndicate  of  firms  for  keeping 
it  closed  in  order  that  it  might  not  produce 
things.  This  man  said  that  if  protection  were 
abandoned,  a  tide  of  pauper  labor  would 
flood  the  country,  and  as  I  looked  at  his 
factory  I  thought  how  entirely  better  it  was  to 
have  no  labor  of  any  kind  whatever,  rather 
than  face  so  horrible  a  future.  Meantime,  do 
you  remember  that  this  peculiar  country  enjoys 
paying  money  for  value  not  received.  I  am 
an  alien,  and  for  the  life  of  me  cannot  see 
why  six  shillings  should  be  paid  for  eighteen- 
penny  caps,  or  eight  shillings  for  half-crown 
cigar-cases.  When  the  country  fills  up  to  a 
decently  populated  level  a  few  million  people 
who  are  not  aliens  will  be  smitten  with  the 
same  sort  of  blindness. 

But  my  friend's  assertion  somehow 
thoroughly  suited  the  grotesque  ferocity  of 
Chicago.  See  now  and  judge !  In  the  village 
of  Isser  Jang  on  the  road  to  Montgomery 
there  be  four  changar  women  who  winnow 
corn — some  seventy  bushels  a  year.  Beyond 
their  hut  lives  Puran  Dass,  the  money-lender, 
who  on  good  security  lends  as  much  as  five 
thousand  rupees  in  a  year.  Jowala  Singh, 
the  lohar,  mends  the  village  plow — some 
thirty,  broken  at  the  share,  in  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  days ;  and  Hukm  Chund,  who 
is  letter-writer  and  head  of  the  little  club  under 
the  travelers'  tree,  generally  keeps  the  village 


American  Notes  225 

posted  in  such  gossip  as  the  barber  and  the 
midwife  have  not  yet  made  public  property. 
Chicago  husks  and  winnows  her  wheat  by  the 
million  bushels,  a  hundred  banks  lend  hun 
dreds  of  millions  of  dollars  in  the  year,  and 
scores  of  factories  turn  out  plow  gear  and 
machinery  by  steam.  Scores  of  daily  papers 
do  work  which  Hukm  Chund  and  the  barber 
and  the  midwife  perform,  with  due  regard  ict 
public  opinion,  in  the  village  of  Isser  Jang. 
So  far  as  manufactures  go,  the  difference  be 
tween  Chicago  on  the  lake  and  Isser  Jang  on 
the  Montgomery  road  is  one  of  degree  only, 
and  not  of  kind.  As  far  as  the  understanding 
of  the  uses  of  life  goes  Isser  Jang,  for  all  its  '' 
seasonal  cholera,  has  the  advantage  over 
Chicago.  Jowala  Singh  knows  and  takes  care 
to  avoid  the  three  or  four  ghoul-haunted  fields 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  village  ;  but  he  is  not 
urged  by  millions  of  devils  to  run  about  all  day 
in  the  sun  and  swear  that  his  plowshares 
are  the  best  in  the  Punjab ;  nor  does  Puran 
Dass  fly  forth  in  a  cart  more  than  once  or 
twice  a  year,  and  he  knows,  on  a  pinch,  how 
to  use  the  railway  and  the  telegraph  as  well  as 
any  son  of  Israel  in  Chicago.  But  this  is 
absurd.  The  Blast  is  not  the  West,  and  these 
men  must  continue  to  deal  with  the  machinery 
of  life,  and  to  call  it  progress.  Their  very 
preachers  dare  not  rebuke  them.  They  gloss 
over  the  hunting  for  money  and  the  twice- 
sharpened  bitterness  of  Adam's  curse  by  saying 


226  American  Notes 

that  such  things  dower  a  man  with  a  larger 
range  of  thoughts  and  higher  aspirations. 
They  do  not  say  :  "  Free  yourself  from  your 
own  slavery,"  but  rather,  "  If  you  can  possibly 
manage  it,  do  not  set  quite  so  much  store 
on  the  things  of  this  world."  And  they 
do  not  know  what  the  things  r>i  this  world 
are. 

I  went  off  to  see  cattle  killed  by  way  of 
clearing  my  head,  which,  as  you  will  perceive, 
was  getting  muddled.  They  say  every 
Englishman  goes  to  the  Chicago  stock-yards. 
You  shall  find  them  about  six  miles  from  the 
city ;  and  once  having  seen  them  will  never 
forget  the  sight.  As  far  as  the  eye  can  reach 
stretches  a  township  of  cattle-pens,  cunningly 
divided  into  blocks  so  that  the  animals  of  any 
pen  can  be  speedily  driven  out  close  to  an 
inclined  timber  path  which  leads  to  an  elevated 
covered  way  straddling  high  above  the  pens. 
These  viaducts  are  two-storied.  On  the  upper 
story  tramp  the  doomed  cattle,  stolidly  for 
the  most  part.  On  the  lower,  with  a  scuffling 
of  sharp  hooves  and  multitudinous  yells,  run 
the  pigs.  The  same  end  is  appointed  for  each. 
Thus  you  will  see  the  gangs  of  cattle  waiting 
their  turn — as  they  wait  sometimes  for  days ; 
and  they  need  not  be  distressed  by  the  sight 
of  their  fellows  running  about  in  the  fear  of 
death.  All  they  know  is  that  a  man  on  horse 
back  causes  their  next-door  neighbors  to 
move  by  means  of  a  whip.  Certain  bars  and 


American  Notes  227 

fences  are  unshipped,  and,  behold,  that  crowd 
have  gone  up  the  mouth  of  a  sloping  tunnel 
and  return  no  more.  It  is  different  with  the 
pigs.  They  shriek  back  the  news  of  the 
exodus  to  their  friends,  and  a  hundred  pens 
skirl  responsive.  It  was  to  the  pigs  I  first 
addressed  myself.  Selecting  a  viaduct  which 
was  full  of  them,  as  I  could  hear  though  I 
could  not  see,  I  marked  a  somber  building 
whereto  it  ran,  and  went  there,  not  unalarmed 
by  stray  cattle  who  had  managed  to  escape 
from  their  proper  quarters.  A  pleasant  smell 
of  brine  warned  me  of  what  was  coming.  I 
entered  the  factory  and  found  it  full  of  pork 
in  barrels,  and  on  another  story  more  pork 
unbarreled,  and  in  a  huge  room,  the  halves  of 
swine  for  whose  use  great  lumps  of  ice 
were  being  pitched  in  at  the  window.  That 
room  was  the  mortuary,  chamber  where  the 
pigs  lie  for  a  little  while  in  state  ere  they  be 
gin  their  progress  through  such  passages  as 
kings  may  sometimes  travel.  Turning  a 
corner  and  not  noting  an  overhead  arrange 
ment  of  greased  rail,  wheel,  and  pulley,  I  ran 
into  the  arms  of  four  eviscerated  carcasses,  all 
pure  white  and  of  a  human  aspect,  being 
pushed  by  a  man  clad  in  vehement  red. 
When  I  leaped  aside,  the  floor  was  slippery 
under  me.  There  was  a  flavor  of  farmyard  in 
my  nostrils  and  the  shouting  of  a  multitude  in 
my  ears.  But  there  was  no  joy  in  that  shout 
ing.  Twelve  men  stood  in  two  lines — six 


228  American  Notes 

aside.  Between  them  and  overhead  ran  the 
railway  of  death  that  had  nearly  shunted  me 
through  the  window.  Each  man  carried  a 
knife,  the  sleeves  of  his  shirt  were  cut  off 
at  the  elbows,  and  from  bosom  to  heel  he  was 
blood-red.  The  atmosphere  was  stifling  as  a 
night  in  the  Rains,  by  reason  of  the  steam  and 
the  crowd.  I  climbed  to  the  beginning  of 
things  and,  perched  upon  a  narrow  beam, 
overlooked  very  nearly  all  the  pigs  ever  bred 
in  Wisconsin.  They  had  just  been  shot  out 
of  the  mouth  of  the  viaduct  and  huddled  to 
gether  in  a  large  pen.  Thence  they  were 
flicked  persuasively,  a  few  at  the  time,  into  a 
smaller  chamber,  and  there  a  man  fixed  tackle 
on  their  hinder  legs  so  that  they  rose  in  the 
air  suspended  from  the  railway  of  death.  Oh ! 
it  was  then  they  shrieked  and  called  on  their 
mothers  and  made  promises  of  amendment, 
till  the  tackle-man  punted  them  in  their  backs, 
and  they  slid  head  down  into  a  brick-floored 
passage,  very  like  a  big  kitchen  sink  that  was 
blood-red.  There  awaited  them  a  red  man 
with  a  knife  which  he  passed  jauntily  through 
their  throats,  and  the  full-voiced  shriek  be 
came  a  sputter,  and  then  a  fall  as  of  heavy 
tropical  rain.  The  red  man  who  was  backed 
against  the  passage  wall  stood  clear  of  the 
wildly  kicking  hoofs  and  passed  his  hand  over 
his  eyes,  not  from  any  feeling  of  compassion, 
but  because  the  spurted  blood  was  in  his  eyes 
and  he  had  barely  time  to  stick  the  next 


American  Notes  229 

arrival.  Then  that  first  stuck  swine  dropped, 
still  kicking,  into  a  great  vat  of  boiling  water, 
and  spoke  no  more  words,  but  wallowed  in 
obedience  to  some  unseen  machinery,  and 
presently  came  forth  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
vat  and  was  heaved  on  the  blades  of  a  blunt 
paddle-wheel-thing  which  said,  "  Hough ! 
Hough  !  Hough !  "  and  skelped  all  the  hair 
off  him  except  what  little  a  couple  of  men 
with  knives  could  remove.  Then  he  was 
again  hitched  by  the  heels  to  that  said  rail 
way  and  passed  down  the  line  of  the  twelve 
men — each  man  with  a  knife — leaving  with 
each  man  a  certain  amount  of  his  individual 
ity  which  was  taken  away  in  a  wheelbarrow, 
and  when  he  reached  the  last  man  he  was 
very  beautiful  to  behold,  but  immensely  un- 
stuffed  and  limp.  Preponderance  of  individ 
uality  was  ever  a  bar  to  foreign  travel.  That 
pig  could  have  been  in  no  case  to  visit  you  in 
India  had  he  not  parted  with  some  of  his 
most  cherished  notions. 

The  dissecting  part  impressed  me  not  so 
mech  as  the  slaying.  They  were  so  excess 
ively  alive,  these  pigs.  And  then  they  were 
so  excessively  dead,  and  the  man  in  the  drip 
ping,  clammy,  hot  passage  did  not  seem  to 
care,  and  ere  the  blood  of  such  an  one  had 
ceased  to  foam  on  the  floor,  such  another,  and 
four  friends  with  him,  had  shrieked  and  died. 
But  a  pig  is  only  the  Unclean  animal — for 
bidden  by  the  Prophet. 


230  American  Notes 

I  was  destined  to  make  rather  a  queer  dis 
covery  when  I  went  over  to  the  cattle- 
slaughter.  All  the  buildings  here  were  on  a 
much  larger  scale,  and  there  was  no  sound  of 
trouble,  but  I  could  smell  the  salt  reek  of 
blood  before  I  set  foot  in  the  place.  The 
cattle  did  not  come  directly  through  the  via 
duct  as  the  pigs  had  done.  They  debouched 
into  a  yard  by  the  hundred,  and  they  were 
big  red  brutes  carrying  much  flesh.  In  the 
center  of  that  yard  stood  a  red  Texan  steer 
with  a  headstall  on  his  wicked  head.  No 
man  controlled  him.  He  was,  so  to  speak, 
picking  his  teeth  and  whistling  in  an  open 
byre  of  his  own  when  the  cattle  arrived.  As 
soon  as  the  first  one  had  fearfully  quitted  the 
viaduct,  this  red  devil  put  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  slouched  across  the  yard,  no  man 
guiding  him.  Then  he  lowed  something  to 
the  effect  that  he  was  the  regularly  appointed 
guide  of  the  establishment  and  would  show 
them  round.  They  were  country  folk,  but 
they  knew  how  to  behave  ;  and  so  followed 
Judas  some  hundred  strong,  patiently,  and 
with  a  look  of  bland  wonder  in  their  faces.  I 
saw  his  broad  back  jogging  in  advance  of 
them,  up  a  lime-washed  incline  where  I  was 
forbidden  to  follow.  Then  a  door  shut,  and 
in  a  minute  back  came  Judas  with  the  air  of 
a  virtuous  plow-bullock  and  took  up  his 
place  in  his  byre.  Somebody  laughed  across 
the  yard,  but  I  heard  no  sound  of  cattle  from 


American  Notes  231 

the  big  brick  building  into  which  the  mob  had 
disappeared.  Only  Judas  chewed  the  cud 
with  a  malignant  satisfaction,  and  so  I  knew 
there  was  trouble,  and  ran  round  to  the  front 
of  the  factory  and  so  entered  and  stood 
aghast. 

Who  takes  count  of  the  prejudices  which  we 
absorb  through  the  skin  by  way  of  our  sur 
roundings  ?  It  was  not  the  spectacle  that  im 
pressed  me.  The  first  thought  that  almost 
spoke  itself  aloud  was :  "  They  are  killing 
kine  ;  "  and  it  was  a  shock.  The  pigs  were 
nobody's  concern,  but  cattle — the  brothers  of 
the  Cow,  the  Sacred  Cow — were  quite  other 
wise.  The  next  time  an  M.  P.  tells  me  that 
India  either  Sultanzies  or  Brahminizes  a  man, 
I  shall  believe  about  half  what  he  says.  It  is 
unpleasant  to  watch  the  slaughter  of  cattle 
when  one  has  laughed  at  the  notion  for  a  few 
years.  I  could  not  see  actually  what  was  done 
in  the  first  instance,  because  the  row  of  stalls 
in  which  they  lay  was  separated  from  me  by 
fifty  impassable  feet  of  butchers  and  slung 
carcasses.  All  I  know  is  that  men  swung 
open  the  doors  of  a  stall  as  occasion  re 
quired,  and  there  lay  two  steers  already 
stunned,  and  breathing  heavily.  These  two 
they  pole-axed,  and  half  raising  them  by  tackle 
they  cut  their  throats.  Two  men  skinned 
each  carcass,  somebody  cut  off  the  head,  and 
in  half  a  minute  more  the  overhead  rail  car 
ried  two  sides  of  beef  to  their  appointed  place. 


232  American  Notes 

There  was  ciamor  enough  in  the  operating 
room,  but  from  the  waiting  cattle,  invisible  on 
the  other  side  of  the  line  of  pens,  never  a 
sound.  They  went  to  their  death,  trusting 
Judas,  without  a  word.  They  were  slain  at 
the  rate  of  five  a  minute,  and  if  the  pig  men 
were  spattered  with  blood,  the  cow  butchers 
were  bathed  in  it.  The  blood  ran  in  mutter 
ing  gutters.  There  was  no  place  for  hand  or 
foot  that  was  not  coated  with  thicknesses  of 
dried  blood,  and  the  stench  of  it  in  the  nos 
trils  bred  fear. 

And  then  the  same  merciful  Providence 
that  has  showered  goods  things  on  my  path 
throughout  sent  me  an  embodiment  of  the 
city  of  Chicago,  so  that  I  might  remember  it 
forever.  Women  come  sometimes  to  see  the 
slaughter,  as  they  would  come  to  see  the 
slaughter  of  men.  And  there  entered  that 
vermilion  hall  a  young  woman  of  large  mold, 
with  brilliantly  scarlet  lips,  and  heavy  eye 
brows,  and  dark  hair  that  came  in  a  "  widow's 
peak"  on  the  forehead.  She  was  well  and 
healthy  and  alive,  and  she  was  dressed  in 
flaming  red  and  black,  and  her  feet  (know 
you  that  the  feet  of  American  women  are  like 
unto  the  feet  of  fairies  ?)  her  feet,  I  say,  were 
cased  in  red  leather  shoes.  She  stood  in  a 
patch  of  sunlight,  the  red  blood  under  her 
shoes,  the  vivid  carcasses  tacked  round  her,  a 
bullock  bleeding  its  life  away  not  six  feet 
away  from  her,  and  the  death  factory  roaring 


American  Notes  233 

all  round  her.     She   looked    curiously,    with 
hard,  bold  eyes,  and  was  not  ashamed. 

Then  said  I :  "  This  is  a  special  Sending. 
I  have  seen  the  City  of  Chicago."  And  I 
went  away  to  get  peace  and  rest 


234  American  Notes 


XV. 

IT  is  a  mean  thing  and  an  unhandsome  to 
"  do  "  a  continent  in  five-hundred-mile  jumps. 
But  after  those  swine  and  bullocks  at  Chicago 
I  felt  that  complete  change  of  air  would  be 
good.  The  United  States  at  present  hinge  in 
or  about  Chicago,  as  a  double-leaved  screen 
hinges.  To  be  sure,  the  tiny  New  England 
States  call  a  trip  to  Pennsylvania  "going 
west,"  but  the  larger-minded  citizen  seems  to 
reckon  his  longitude  from  Chicago.  Twenty 
years  hence  the  center  of  population — that 
shaded  square  on  the  census  map — will  have 
shifted,  men  say,  far  west  of  Chicago. 
Twenty  years  later  it  will  be  on  the  Pacific 
slope.  Twenty  years  after  that  America  will 
begin  to  crowd  up,  and  there  will  be  some 
trouble.  People  will  demand  manufactured 
goods  for  their  reduced-establishment  house 
holds  at  the  cheapest  possible  rates,  and  the 
cry  that  the  land  is  rich  enough  to  afford  pro 
tection  will  cease  with  a  great  abruptness. 
At  present  it  is  the  farmer  who  pays  most 
dearly  for  the  luxury  of  high  prices.  In  the 
old  days,  when  the  land  was  fresh  and  there 
was  plenty  of  it  and  it  cropped  like  the  garden 
of  Eden,  he  did  not  mind  paying.  Now  there 
is  not  so  much  free  land,  and  the  old  acres 


American  Notes  235 

are  needing  stimulants,  which  cost  money, 
and  the  farmer,  who  pays  for  everything,  is 
beginning  to  ask  questions.  Also  the  great 
American  nation,  which  individually  never 
shuts  a  door  behind  its  noble  self,  very  sel 
dom  attempts  to  put  back  anything  that  it 
has  taken  from  Nature's  shelves.  It  grabs 
all  it  can  and  moves  on.  But  the  moving-on 
is  nearly  finished  and  the  grabbing  must 
stop,  and  then  the  Federal  Government  will 
have  to  establish  a  Woods  and  Forests  De 
partment  the  like  of  which  was  never  seen  in 
the  world  before.  And  all  the  people  who 
have  been  accustomed  to  hack,  mangle,  and 
burn  timber  as  they  please  will  object,  with 
shots  and  protestations,  to  this  infringement 
of  their  rights.  The  nigger  will  breed  boun 
teously,  and  he  will  have  to  be  reckoned  with ; 
and  the  manufacturer  will  have  to  be  con 
tented  with  smaller  profits,  and  he  will  have 
to  be  reckoned  with ;  and  the  railways  will 
no  longer  rule  the  countries  through  which 
they  run,  and  they  will  have  to  be  reckoned 
with.  And  nobody  will  approve  of  it  in  the 
least. 

Yes  ;  it  will  be  a  spectacle  for  all  the  world 
to  watch,  this  big,  slashing  colt  of  a  nation, 
that  has  got  off  with  a  flying  start  on  a  freshly 
littered  course,  being  pulled  back  to  the  ruck 
by  that  very  mutton-fisted  jockey  Necessity. 
There  will  be  excitement  in  America  when  a 
few  score  millions  of  "  sovereigns  "  discover 


236  American  Notes 

that  what  they  considered  the  outcome  of 
their  own  Government  is  but  the  rapidly  di 
minishing  bounty  of  Nature  ;  and  that  if  they 
want  to  get  on  comfortably  they  must  tackle 
every  single  problem  from  labor  to  finance 
humbly,  without  gasconade,  and  afresh.  But 
at  present  they  look  "  that  all  the  to-morrows 
shall  be  as  to-day,"  and  if  you  argue  with 
them  they  say  that  the  Democratic  Idea  will 
keep  things  going.  They  believe  in  that 
Idea,  and  the  less  well-informed  fortify  them 
selves  in  their  belief  by  curious  assertions  as 
to  the  despotism  that  exists  in  England.  This 
is  pure  provincialism,  of  course;  but  it  is 
very  funny  to  listen  to,  especially  when  you 
compare  the  theory  with  the  practise  (pistol, 
chiefly)  as  proven  in  the  newspapers.  I 
have  striven  to  find  out  where  the  central 
authority  of  the  land  lies.  It  isn't  at  Wash 
ington,  because  the  Federal  Government  can't 
do  anything  to  the  States  save  run  the  mail 
and  collect  a  Federal  tax  or  two.  It  isn't  in 
the  States,  because  the  townships  can  do  as 
they  like ;  and  it  isn't  in  the  townships,  be 
cause  these  are  bossed  by  alien  voters  or 
rings  of  patriotic  homebred  citizens.  And  it 
certainly  is  not  in  the  citizens,  because  they 
are  governed  and  coerced  by  despotic  power 
of  public  opinion  as  represented  by  their 
papers,  preachers,  or  local  society.  I  found 
one  man  who  told  me  that  if  anything  went 
Wrong  in  this  huge  congress  of  kings, — il 


American  Notes  237 

there  was  a  split  or  an  upheaval  or  a  smash, 
— the  people  in  detail  would  be  subject  to 
the  Idea  of  the  sovereign  people  in  mass. 
This  is  a  survival  from  the  Civil  War,  when, 
you  remember,  the  people  in  a  majority  did 
with  guns  and  swords  slay  and  wound  the 
people  in  detail.  All  the  same,  the  notion 
seems  very  much  like  the  worship  by  the 
savage  of  the  unloaded  rifle  as  it  leans  against 
the  wall. 

But  the  men  and  women  set  Us  an  example  f- 
in  patriotism.     They  believe  in  their  land  and  / 
its  future,  and   its  honor,  and  its  glory,  andj 
they  are  not  ashamed  to  say  so.     From  the  j 
largest  to  the  least  runs  this  same  proud,  pas-j 
sionate  conviction  to  which  I  take  off  my  hat; 
and  for  which  I  love  them.     An  average  Eng 
lish  householder  seems  to  regard  his  country 
as  an  abstraction  to  supply  him  with  police 
men    and    fire-brigades.      The   cockney   cad 
cannot    understand    what    the   word   means. 
The  bloomin'  toffs  he  knows,   and  the   law, 
and  the  soldiers  that  supply  him  with  a  spec 
tacle  in  the  Parks  ;  but  he  would   laugh    in 
your  face  at  the  notion  of    any    duty    being 
owed  by  himself  to  his  land.     Pick  an  Ameri 
can  of  the  second  generation  anywhere  you 
please — from  the  cab-rank,  the  porter's  room, 
or    the    plow-tail — 'specially  the    plow-tail, — 
and  that  man  will  make  you  understand    in 
five  minutes  that  he  understands  what  manner 
of  thing  his  Republic  is.     He  might  laugh  at 


238  American  Notes 

a  law  that  didn't  suit  his  convenience,  dra* 
your  eye-teeth  in  a  bargain,  and  applaud 
'cuteness  on  the  outer  verge  of  swindling ;  but 
you  should  hear  him  stand  up  and  sing : — 

*  My  country  'tis  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  liberty, 
Of  thee  I  sing  !  " 

I  have  heard  a  few  thousand  of  them  engaged 
in  that  employment.  I  respect  him.  There  is 
too  much  Romeo  and  too  little  balcony  about 
our  National  Anthem.  With  the  American 
article  it  is  all  balcony.  There  must  be  born 
a  poet  who  shall  give  the  English  the  song  of 
their  own,  own  country — which  is  to  say,  of 
about  half  the  world.  Remains  then  only  to 
compose  the  greatest  song  of  all — The  Saga 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon  all  round  the  earth — a 
paean  that  shall  combine  the  terrible  slow 
swing  of  the  Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republit 
(which,  if  you  know  not,  get  chanted  to  you) 
with  Britannia  needs  no  Bulwarks,  the  skirl  of 
the  British  Grenadiers  with  that  perfect  quick 
step,  Marching  through  Georgia,  and  at  the 
end  the  wail  of  the  Dead  March.  For  We, 
even  We  who  share  the  earth  between  us  as 
no  gods  have  ever  shared  it,  we  also  are  mop 
tal  in  the  matter  of  our  single  selves.  Will 
any  one  take  the  contract  ? 

It  was  with  these  rambling  notions  that  I 
arrived  at  the  infinite  peace  of  the  tiny  town 
ship  of  Musquash  on  the  Monongahela  River. 
The  clang  and  tumult  of  Chicago  belonged  to 


American  Notes  239 

another  world.  Imagine  a  rolling,  wooded, 
English  landscape,  under  softest  of  blue  skies, 
dotted  at  three-mile  intervals  with  fat  little, 
quiet  little  villages,  or  aggressive  little  manu 
facturing  towns  that  the  trees  and  the  folds  of 
the  hills  mercifully  prevented  from  betraying 
their  presence.  The  golden-rod  blazed  in 
the  pastures  against  the  green  of  the  mulleins, 
and  the  cows  picked  their  way  home  through 
the  twisted  paths  between  the  blackberry 
bushes.  All  summer  was  on  the  orchards, 
and  the  apples — such  apples  as  we  dream  of 
when  we  eat  the  woolly  imitations  of  Kashmir 
— were  ripe  and  toothsome.  It  was  good  to 
lie  in  a  hammock  with  half-shut  eyes,  and,  in 
the  utter  stillness,  to  hear  the  apples  dropping 
from  the  trees,  and  the  tinkle  of  the  cowbells 
as  the  cows  walked  statelily  down  the  main 
road  of  the  village.  Everybody  in  that  rest 
ful  place  seemed  to  have  just  as  much  as  he 
wanted;  a  house  with  all  comfortable  ap 
pliances,  a  big  or  little  veranda  wherein  to 
spend  the  day,  a  neatly  shaved  garden  with  a 
wild  wealth  of  flowers,  some  cows,  and  an 
orchard.  Everybody  knew  everybody  else 
intimately,  and  what  they  did  not  know,  the 
local  daily  paper — a  daily  for  a  village  of 
twelve  hundred  people! — supplied.  There 
was  a  courthouse  where  justice  was  done, 
and  a  jail  where  some  most  enviable  prisoners 
lived,  and  there  were  four  or  five  churches  of 
four  or  five  denominations.  Also  it  was  im- 


240  American  Notes 

possible  to  buy  openly  any  liquor  in  that  little 
paradise.  But — and  this  is  a  very  serious  but 
— you  could  by  procuring  a  medical  certifi 
cate  get  strong  drinks  from  the  chemist. 
That  is  the  drawback  of  prohibition.  It 
makes  a  man  who  wants  a  drink  a  shirker  and 
a  contriver,  which  things  are  not  good  for  the 
soul  of  a  man,  and  presently,  'specially  if  he 
be  young,  causes  him  to  believe  that  he  may 
just  as  well  be  hanged  for  a  sheep  as  for  a 
lamb ;  and  the  end  of  that  young  man  is  not 
pretty.  Nothing  except  a  rattling  fall  will 
persuade  an  average  colt  that  a  fence  is  not 
meant  to  be  jumped  over ;  whereas  if  he  be 
turned  out  into  the  open  he  learns  to  carry 
himself  with  discretion.  One  heard  a  good 
deal  of  this  same  dread  of  drink  in  Musquash, 
and  even  the  maidens  seemed  to  know  too 
much  about  its  effects  upon  certain  unregen- 
erate  youths,  who,  if  they  had  been  once 
made  thoroughly,  effectually,  and  persistently 
drunk — with  a  tepid  brandy  and  soda  thrust 
before  their  goose-fleshed  noses  on  the  terrible 
Next  Morning — would  perhaps  have  seen  the 
futility  of  their  ways.  It  was  a  sin  by  village 
canons  to  imbibe  lager,  though — experto  crede 
— you  can  get  dropsy  on  that  stuff  long  be 
fore  you  can  get  drunk.  "  But  what  man 
knows  his  mind  ?  "  Besides,  it  was  all  their 
own  affair. 

The  little  community  seemed  to  be  as  self- 
contained  as  an  Indian  village.     Had  the  rest 


American  Notes  241 

of  the  land  sunk  under  the  sea,  Musquash 
would  have  gone  on  sending  its  sons  to  school 
ia  order  to  make  them  "good  citizens," 
which  is  the  constant  prayer  of  the  true 
American  father,  settling  its  own  road-making,, 
local  cesses,  town-lot  arbitrations,  and  internal 
government  by  ballot  and  vote  and  due  re 
spect  to  the  voices  of  the  headmen  (which  is 
the  salvation  of  the  ballot),  until  such  time  as 
all  should  take  their  places  in  the  cemetery 
appointed  for  their  faith.  Here  were  Ameri 
cans  and  no  aliens — men  ruling  themselves 
by  themselves  and  for  themselves  and  their 
wives  and  their  children — in  peace,  order, 
and  decency. 

But  what  went  straightest  to  this  heart, 
though  they  did  not  know  it,  was  that  they  were 
Methody  folk  for  the  most  part — aye,  Methody 
as  ever  trod  a  Yorkshire  Moor,  or  drove  on  a 
Sunday  to  some  chapel  of  the  Faith  in  the 
Dales.  The  old  Methody  talk  was  there,  with 
the  discipline  whereby  the  souls  of  the  Just  are, 
sometimes  to  their  intense  vexation,  made 
perfect  on  this  earth  in  order  that  they  may 
"  take  out  their  letters  and  live  and  die  in 
good  standing."  If  you  don't  know  the  talk, 
you  won't  know  what  that  means.  The  dis 
cipline,  or  dis^line,  is  no  thing  to  be  trifled 
with,  and  its  working  among  a  congregation 
depends  entirely  upon  the  tact,  humanity,  and 
sympathy  of  the  leader  who  works  it.  He, 
knowing  what  youth's  desires  are,  can  turn 
16 


242  American  Notes 

the  soul  in  the  direction  of  good,  gently,  in* 
stead  of  wrenching  it  savagely  towards  the 
right  path  only  to  see  it  break  away  quivering 
and  scared.  The  arm  of  the  Disr/^line  is 
long.  A  maiden  told  me,  as  a  new  and 
strange  fact  and  one  that  would  interest  a 
foreigner,  of  a  friend  of  hers  who  had  once 
been  admonished  by  some  elders  somewhere 
— not  in  Musquash — for  the  heinous  crime  of 
dancing.  She,  the  friend,  did  not  in  the  least 
like  it.  She  would  not.  Can't  you  imagine 
the  delightful  results  of  a  formal  wigging  ad 
ministered  by  a  youngish  and  austere  elder 
who  was  not  accustomed  to  make  allowances 
for  the  natural  dancing  instincts  of  the  young 
of  the  human  animal  ?  The  hot  irons  that  are 
held  forth  to  scare  may  also  sear,  as  those 
who  have  ever  lain  under  an  unfortunate  ex 
position  of  the  old  Faith  can  attest. 

But  it  was  all  immensely  interesting — the 
absolutely  fresh,  wholesome,  sweet  life  that 
paid  due  reverence  to  the  things  of  the  next 
world,  but  took  good  care  to  get  enough 
tennis  in  the  cool  of  the  evening ;  that  con 
cerned  itself  as  honestly  and  thoroughly  wfth 
the  daily  round,  the  trivial  task  (and  that  same 
task  is  anything  but  trivial  when  you  are 
"  helped  "  by  an  American  "  help  ")  as  with 
the  salvation  of  the  soul.  I  had  the  honor  of 
meeting  in  the  flesh,  even  as  Miss  Louisa 
Alcott  drew  them,  Meg  and  Joe  and  Beth  and 
Amy,  whom  you  ought  to  know.  There  was 


American  Notes  243 

no  affectation  of  concealment  in  their  lives 
who  had  nothing  to  conceal.  There  were 
many  "  little  women  "  in  that  place,  because, 
even  as  is  the  case  in  England,  the  boys  had 
gone  out  to  seek  their  fortunes.  Some  were 
working  in  the  thundering,  clanging  cities, 
others  had  removed  in  the  infinite  West, 
and  others  had  disappeared  in  the  languid, 
lazy  South ;  and  the  maidens  waited  their  re 
turn,  which  is  the  custom  of  maidens  all  over 
the  world.  Then  the  boys  would  come  back 
in  the  soft  sunlight,  attired  in  careful  raiment, 
their  tongues  cleans-ed  of  evil  words  and  dis 
courtesy.  They  had  just  come  to  call — bless 
their  carefully  groomed  heads,  so  they  had, — 
and  the  maidens  in  white  dresses  glimmered 
like  ghosts  on  the  stoop  and  received  them 
according  to  their  merits.  Mama  had  noth 
ing  to  do  with  this,  nor  papa  either,  for  he 
was  down-town  trying  to  drive  reason  into  the 
head  of  a  land  surveyor ;  and  all  along  the 
shaded,  lazy,  intimate  street  you  heard  the 
garden-gates  click  and  clash,  as  the  mood  of 
the  man  varied,  and  bursts  of  pleasant  laugh 
ter  where  three  or  four — be  sure  the  white 
muslins  were  among  them, — discussed  a  pic 
nic  past  or  a  buggy-drive  to  come.  Then  the 
couples  went  their  ways  and  talked  together 
till  the  young  men  had  to  go  at  last  on  ac 
count  of  the  trains,  and  all  trooped  joyously 
down  to  the  station  and  thought  no  harm  of 
it.  And,,  indeed,  why  should  they?  From 


244  American  Notes 

her  fifteenth  year  the  American  maiden 
moves  among  "  the  boys  "  as  a  sister  among 
brothers.  They  are  her  servants  to  take  her 
out  riding, — which  is  driving, — to  give  her 
flowers  and  candy.  The  last  two  items  are 
expensive,  and  this  is  good  for  the  young  man, 
as  teaching  him  to  value  friendship  that  costs 
a  little  in  cash  and  may  necessitate  economy 
on  the  cigar  side.  As  to  the  maiden,  she  is 
taught  to  respect  herself,  that  her  fate  is  in 
her  own  hands,  and  that  she  is  the  more 
stringently  bound  by  the  very  measure  of  the 
liberty  so  freely  accorded  to  her.  Wherefore, 
in  her  own  language,  "  she  has  a  lovely  time  " 
with  about  two  or  three  hundred  boys  who 
have  sisters  of  their  own,  and  a  very  accurate 
perception  that  if  they  were  unworthy  of  their 
trust  a  syndicate  of  other  boys  would  probably 
pass  them  into  a  world  where  there  is  neither 
marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage.  And  so 
time  goes  till  the  maiden  knows  the  other  side 
of  the  house, — knows  that  a  man  is  not  a 
demi-god  nor  a  mysteriously  veiled  monster, 
but  an  average,  egotistical,  vain,  gluttonous, 
but  on  the  whole,  companionable  sort  of  per 
son,  to  be  soothed,  fed,  and  managed — knowl 
edge  that  does  not  come  to  her  sister  in  Eng 
land  till  after  a  few  years  of  matrimony.  And 
then  she  makes  her  choice.  The  Golden 
Light  touches  eyes  that  are  full  of  comprehen 
sion  ;  but  the  light  is  golden  none  the  less,  for 
she  makes  just  the  same  sweet,  irrational 


American  Notes  245 

choices  that  an  English  girl  does.  With  this 
advantage:  she  knows  a  little  more,  has  ex 
perience  in  entertaining,  insight  into  the  busi 
nesses,  employ,  and  hobbies  of  men,  gathered 
from  countless  talks  with  the  boys,  and  talks 
with  the  other  girls  who  find  time  at  those 
mysterious  conclaves  to  discuss  what  Tom, 
Ted,  Stuke,  or  Jack  have  been  doing.  Thus 
it  happens  that  she  is  a  companion,  in  the 
fullest  sense  of  the  word,  of  the  man  she 
weds,  zealous  for  the  interest  of  the  firm,  to  be 
consulted  in  time  of  stress  and  to  be  called 
upon  for  help  and  sympathy  in  time  of  dan 
ger.  Pleasant  it  is  that  one  heart  should  beat 
for  you  ;  but  it  is  better  when  the  head  above 
that  heart  has  been  thinking  hard  on  your  be 
half,  and  when  the  lips,  that  are  also  very 
pleasant  to  kiss,  give  wise  counsel. 

When  the  American  maiden — I  speak  now 
for  the  rank  and  file  of  that  noble  army — is 
once  married,  why,  it  is  finished.  She  has 
had  her  lovely  time.  It  may  have  been  five, 
seven,  or  ten  years  according  to  circum 
stances.  She  abdicates  promptly  with  start 
ling  speed,  and  her  place  knows  her  no  more 
except  as  with  her  husband.  The  Queen  is 
dead,  or  looking  after  the  house.  This  same 
household  work  seems  to  be  the  thing  that 
ages  the  American  woman.  She  is  infamously 
"  helped  "  by  the  Irish  trollop  and  the  negress 
alike.  It  is  not  fair  upon  her,  because  she 
has  to  do  three  parts  of  the  housework  her- 


246  American  Notes 

self,  and  in  dry,  nerve-straining  air  the 
"  chores  "  are  a  burden.  Be  thankful,  oh  my 
people,  for  Mauz  Baksh,  Kadir  Baksh,  and 
the  ayah  while  they  are  with  you.  They  are 
twice  as  handy  as  the  unkempt  slatterns  of 
the  furnished  apartments  to  which  you  will  re 
turn,  Commissioners  though  you  be  ;  and  five 
times  as  clever  as  the  Amelia  Araminta  Re- 
bellia  Secessia  Jackson  (colored)  under  whose 
ineptitude  and  insolence  the  young  American 
housewife  groans.  But  all  this  is  far  enough 
from  peaceful,  placid  Musquash,  and  its 
boundless  cordiality,  its  simple,  genuine  hos 
pitality,  and  its — what's  the  French  word  that 
just  covers  all  ? — gra — gracieuseness,  isn't  it  ? 
Oh,  be  good  to  an  American  wherever  you 
meet  him.  Put  him  up  for  the  club,  and  he 
will  hold  you  listening  till  three  in  the  morn 
ing  ;  give  him  the  best  tent,  and  the  gram-fed 
mutton.  I  have  incurred  a  debt  of  salt  that  I 
can  never  repay,  but  do  you  return  it  piece 
meal  to  any  of  that  Nation,  and  the  account 
will  be  on  my  head  till  our  paths  in  the  world 
cross  again.  He  drinks  iced  water  just  as  we 
do ;  but  he  doesn't  quite  like  our  cigars. 

And  how  shall  I  finish  the  tale  ?  Would  it 
interest  you  to  learn  of  the  picnics  in  the  hot, 
still  woods  that  overhang  the  Monongahela, 
when  those  idiotic  American  buggies  that 
can't  turn  round  got  stuck  among  the  bram 
bles  and  all  but  capsized  ;  of  boating  in  the 
blazing  sun  on  the  river  that  but  a  little  time 


American  Notes  247 

before  had  cast  at  the  feet  of  the  horrified 
village  the  corpses  of  the  Johnstown  tragedy  ? 
I  saw  one,  only  one,  remnant  of  that  terrible 
wreck.  He  had  been  a  minister.  House, 
church,  congregation,  wife,  and  children  had 
been  swept  away  from  him  in  one  night  of 
terror.  He  had  no  employment ;  he  could 
have  employed  himself  at  nothing.  But  God 
had  been  very  good  to  him.  He  sat  in  the 
sun  and  smiled  a  little  weakly.  It  was  in  his 
poor  blurred  mind  that  something  had  hap 
pened — he  was  not  sure  what  it  was,  but  un 
doubtedly  something  had  occurred.  One 
could  only  pray  that  the  light  would  never 
return. 

But  there  be  many  pictures  on  my  mind. 
Of  a  huge  manufacturing  city  of  three  hundred 
thousand  souls  lighted  and  warmed  by  natural 
gas,  so  that  the  great  valley  full  of  flaming 
furnaces  sent  up  no  smoke  wreaths  to  the  clear 
sky.  Of  Musquash  itself  lighted  by  the  same 
mysterious  agency,  flares  of  gas  eight  feet  long, 
roaring  day  and  night  at  the  corners  of  the 
grass-grown  streets  because  it  wasn't  worth 
while  to  turn  them  out  ;  of  fleets  of  coal-flats 
being  hauled  down  the  river  on  an  intermin 
able  journey  to  St.  Louis  ;  of  factories  nest 
ling  in  woods  where  all  the  ax-handles  and 
shovels  in  the  world  seemed  to  be  manufac 
tured  daily  ;  and  last,  of  that  quaint  forgotten 
German  community,  the  Brotherhood  of  Per 
petual  Separation  who  founded  themselves 


248  American  Notes 

when  the  State  was  yet  young  and  land  cheap, 
and  are  now  dying  out  because  they  will  neither 
marry  nor  give  in  marriage  and  their  recruits 
are  very  few.  The  advance  in  the  value  of 
land  has  almost  smothered  these  poor  old 
people  in  a  golden  affluence  that  they  never 
desired.  They  live  in  a  little  village  where  the 
houses  are  built  old  Dutch  fashion,  with  their 
front  doors  away  from  the  road,  and  cobbled 
paths  all  about.  The  cloistered  peace  of  Mus 
quash  is  a  metropolitan  riot  beside  the  hush 
of  that  village.  And  there  is,  too,  a  love-tale 
tucked  away  among  the  flowers.  It  has  taken 
seventy  years  in  the  telling,  for  the  brother 
and  sister  loved  each  other  well,  but  they  loved 
their  duty  to  the  brotherhood  more.  So  they 
have  lived  and  still  do  live,  seeing  each  other 
daily,  and  separated  for  all  time.  Any  trouble 
that  might  have  been  is  altogether  wiped  out 
of  their  faces,  which  are  as  calm  as  those  of 
very  little  children.  To  the  uninitiated  those 
constant  ones  resemble  extremely  old  people 
in  garments  of  absurd  cut.  But  they  love  each 
other,  and  that  seems  to  bring  one  back  quite 
naturally  to  the  girls  and  the  boys  in  Mus 
quash.  The  boys  were  nice  boys — graduates 
of  Yale  of  course  ;  you  mustn't  mention  Har 
vard  here — but  none  the  less  skilled  in  bus 
iness,  in  stocks  and  shares,  the  boring  for  oil, 
and  the  sale  of  everything  that  can  be  sold  by 
one  sinner  to  another.  Skilled,  too,  in  base 
ball,  big-shouldered,  with  straight  eyes  and 


American  Notes  249 

square  chins — but  not  above  occasional  diver 
sion  and  mild  orgies.  They  will  make  good 
citizens  and  possess  the  earth,  and  eventually 
wed  one  of  the  nice  white  muslin  dresses. 
There  are  worse  things  in  this  world  than 
being  "  one  of  the  boys  "  in  Musquash. 


250  American  Notes 


XVI. 

You  are  a  contemptible  lot,  over  yonder. 
Some  of  you  are  Commissioners,  and  some 
Lieutenant-Governors,  and  some  have  the  V. 
C.,  and  a  few  are  privileged  to  walk  about  the 
Mall  arm  in  arm  with  the  Viceroy ;  but  /have 
seen  Mark  Twain  this  golden  morning,  have 
shaken  his  hand,  and  smoked  a  cigar — no,  two 
cigars — with  him,  and  talked  with  him  for 
more  than  two  hours  !  Understand  clearly 
that  I  do  not  despise  you  ;  indeed,  I  don't.  I 
am  only  very  sorry  for  you,  from  the  Viceroy 
downward.  To  soothe  your  envy  and  to  prove 
that  I  still  regard  you  as  my  equals,  I  will  tell 
you  all  about  it. 

They  said  in  Buffalo  that  he  was  in  Hart 
ford,  Conn.  ;  and  again  they  said  "  perchance 
he  is  gone  upon  a  journey  to  Portland  ;  "  and 
a  big,  fat  drummer  vowed  that  he  knew  the 
great  man  intimately,  and  that  Mark  was 
spending  the  summer  in  Europe — which  in 
formation  so  upset  me  that  I  embarked  upon 
the  wrong  train,  and  was  incontinently  turned 
out  by  the  conductor  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
from  the  station,  amid  the  wilderness  of  rail 
way  tracks.  Have  you  ever,  encumbered  with 
great-coat  and  valise,  tried  to  dodge  diversely- 
minded  locomotives  when  the  sun  was  shining 


American  Notes  251 

in  your  eyes  ?  But  I  forgot  that  you  have  not 
seen  Mark  Twain,  you  people  of  no  account  1 

Saved  from  the  jaws  of  the  cowcatcher,  me 
wandering  devious  a  stranger  met. 

"  Elmira  is  the  place,  Elmira  in  the  State 
of  New  York — this  State,  not  two  hundred: 
miles  away  ;  "  and  he  added,  perfectly  un 
necessarily,  "  Slide,  Kelley,  slide." 

I  slid  on  the  West  Shore  line,  I  slid  till 
midnight,  and  they  dumped  me  down  at  the 
door  of  a  frowzy  hotel  in  Elmira.  Yes,  they 
knew  all  about  "  that  man  Clemens,"  but  reck 
oned  he  was  not  in  town  ;  had  gone  East 
somewhere.  I  had  better  possess  my  soul  in* 
patience  till  the  morrow,  and  then  dig  up  the 
"  man  Clemens' "  brother-in-law,  who  was  in 
terested  in  coal. 

The  idea  of  chasing  half  a  dozen  relatives 
in  addition  to  Mark  Twain  up  and  down  a  city 
of  thirty  thousand  inhabitants  kept  me  awake. 
Morning  revealed  Elmira,  whose  streets  were 
desolated  by  railway  tracks,  and  whose  suburbs- 
were  given  up  to  the  manufacture  of  door- 
sashes  and  window-frames.  It  was  surrounded 
by  pleasant,  fat,  little  hills,  rimmed  with  tim 
ber  and  topped  with  cultivation.  The  Che- 
mung  River  flowed  generally  up  and  down  the 
town,  and  had  just  finished  flooding  a  few  of 
the  main  streets. 

The  hotel-man  and  the  telephone  man. 
assured  me  that  the  much-desired  brother-in- 
law  was  out  of  town,  and  no  one  seemed  to 


252  American  Notes 

know  where  "  the  man  Clemens  "  abode. 
Later  on  I  discovered  that  he  had  not  sum 
mered  in  that  place  for  more  than  nineteen 
seasons,  and  so  was  comparatively  a  new  arri 
val. 

A  friendly  policeman  volunteered  the  news 
that  he  had  seen  Twain  or  "  some  one  very 
like  him  "  driving  a  buggy  the  day  before. 
This  gave  me  a  delightful  sense  of  nearness. 
Fancy  living  in  a  town  where  you  could  see 
the  author  of  Tom  Sawyer,  or  "  some  one  very 
like  him,"  jolting  over  the  pavements  in  a 
buggy  ! 

"  He  lives  out  yonder  at  East  Hill,"  said 
the  policeman  ;  "  three  miles  from  here." 

Then  the  chase  began — in  a  hired  hack,  up 
an  awful  hill,  where  sunflowers  blossomed  by 
the  roadside,  and  crops  waved,  and  Harper's 
Magazine  cows  <itood  in  eligible  and  com 
manding  attitudes  knee-deep  in  clover,  all 
ready  to  be  transferred  to  photogravure.  The 
great  man  must  have  been  prosecuted  by  out- 
siders  aforetime,  and  fled  up  the  hill  for 
refuge. 

Presently  the  driver  stopped  at  a  miserable, 
little  white  wood  shanty,  and  demanded 
"  Mister  Clemens." 

"  I  know  he's  a  big-bug  and  all  that,"  he 
explained,  "  but  y^»u  can  never  tell  what  sort 
of  notions  those  sort  of  men  take  into  their 
heads  to  live  in,  anyways." 

There  rose  up  a  young  lady  who  was  sketch- 


American  Notes  253 

ing  thistletops  and  golaen  rod,  amid  a  plentiful 
supply  of  both,  and  set  the  pilgrims  on  the 
right  path. 

"  It's  a  pretty  Gothic  house  on  the  left- 
hand  side  a  little  way  farther  on." 

"  Gothic  h ,"  said   the    driver.     "  Very 

few  of  the  city  hacks  take  this  drive,  specially 
if  they  know  they  are  coming  out  here,"  and 
he  glared  at  me  savagely. 

It  was  a  very  pretty  house,  anything  but 
Gothic,  clothed  with  ivy,  standing  in  a  very 
big  compound,  and  fronted  by  a  veranda  full 
of  chairs  and  hammocks.  The  roof  of  the 
veranda  was  a  trellis-work  of  creepers,  and 
the  sun  peeping  through  moved  on  the  shin 
ing  boards  below. 

Decidedly  this  remote  place  was  an  ideal 
one  for  work,  if  a  man  could  work  among  these 
soft  airs  and  the  murmur  of  the  long-eared 
crops. 

Appeared  suddenly  a  lady  used  to  dealing 
with  rampageous  outsiders.  "  Mr.  Clemens 
has  just  walked  downtown.  He  is  at  his 
brother-in-law's  house." 

Then  he  was  within  shouting  distance, 
after  all,  and  the  chase  had  not  been  in  vain. 
With  speed  I  fled,  and  the  driver,  skidding 
the  wheel  and  swearing  audibly,  arrived  at 
the  bottom  of  that  hill  without  accidents.  It 
was  in  the  pause  that  followed  between  ring 
ing  the  brother-in-law's  bell  and  getting  an 
answer  that  it  occurred  to  me  for  the  first  time 


254  American  Notes 

Mark  Twain  might  possibly  have  other  en 
gagements  than  the  entertainment  of  escaped 
lunatics  from  India,  be  they  never  so  full  of 
admiration.  And  in  another  man's  house — 
anyhow,  what  had  I  come  to  do  or  say? 
Suppose  the  drawing-room  should  be  full  of 
people, — suppose  a  baby  was  sick,  how  was  I 
to  explain  that  I  only  wanted  to  shake  hands 
with  him  ? 

Then  things  happened  somewhat  in  this 
order.  A  big,  darkened  drawing-room ;  a 
huge  chair ;  a  man  with  eyes,  a  mane  of  griz 
zled  hair,  a  brown  mustache  covering  a  mouth 
as  delicate  as  a  woman's,  a  strong,  square 
hand  shaking  mine,  and  the  slowest  calmest, 
levellest  voice  in  all  the  world  saying : — 

"  Well,  you  think  you  owe  me  something, 
and  you've  come  to  tell  me  so.  That's  what 
I  call  squaring  a  debt  handsomely." 

"Piff!"  from  a  cob-pipe  (I  always  said 
that  a  Missouri  meerschaum  was  the  best  smok 
ing  in  the  world),  and,  behold !  Mark  Twain 
had  curled  himself  up  in  the  big  armchair, 
and  1  was  smoking  reverently,  as  befits  one 
in  the  presence  of  his  superior. 

The  thing  that  struck  me  first  was  that  he 
was  an  elderly  man  ;  yet,  after  a  minute's 
thought,  I  perceived  that  it  was  otherwise, 
and  in  five  minutes,  the  eyes  looking  at  me, 
I  saw  that  the  gray  hair  was  an  accident  of 
the  most  trivial.  He  was  quite  young.  I 
was  shaking  his  hand.  I  was  smoking  his 


American  Notes  255 

,  and  I  was  hearing  him  talk — this  man 
I  had  learned  to  love  and  admire  fourteen 
thousand  miles  away. 

Reading  his  books,  I  had  striven  to  get  an 
;dea  of  his  personality,  and  all  my '  precon 
ceived  notions  were  wrong  and  beneath  the 
reality.  Blessed  is  the  man  who  finds  no  dis 
illusion  when  he  is  brought  face  to  face  with  a 
revered  writer.  That  was  a  moment  to  be 
remembered ;  the  landing  of  a  twelve-pound 
salmon  was  nothing  to  it.  I  had  hooked 
Mark  Twain,  and  he  was  treating  me  as 
though  under  certain  circumstances  I  might 
be  an  equal. 

About  this  time  I  became  aware  that  he 
was  discussing  the  copyright  question.  Here, 
so  far  as  I  remember,  is  what  he  said. 
Attend  to  the  words  of  the  oracle  through 
this  unworthy  medium  transmitted.  You  will 
never  be  able  to  imagine  the  long,  slow  surge 
of  the  drawl,  and  the  deadly  gravity  of  the 
countenance,  the  quaint  pucker  of  the  body, 
one  foot  thrown  over  the  arm  of  the  chair, 
the  yellow  pipe  clinched  in  one  corner  of  the 
mouth,  and  the  right  hand  casually  caressing 
the  square  chin : — 

"  Copyright  ?  Some  men  hare  morals,  and 
some  men  have — other  things.  I  presume  a 
publisher  is  a  man.  He  is  not  born.  He  is 
created — by  circumstances.  Some  publishers 
have  morals.  Mine  have.  They  pay  me  for 
the  English  productions  of  my  books.  When 


256  American  Notes 

you  hear  men  talking  of  Bret  Harte's  works 
and  other  works  and  my  books  being  pirated, 
ask  them  to  be  sure  of  their  facts.  I  think 
they'll  find  the  books  are  paid  for.  It  was 
ever  thus. 

"  I  remember  an  unprincipaled  and  for 
midable  publisher.  Perhaps  he's  dead  now. 
He  used  to  take  my  short  stories — I  can't 
call  it  steal  or  pirate  them.  It  was  beyond 
these  things  altogether.  He  took  my  stories 
one  at  a  time  and  made  a  book  of  it.  If  I 
wrote  an  essay  on  dentistry  or  theology  or  any 
little  thing  of  that  kind — just  an  essay  that 
long  (he  indicated  half  an  inch  on  his  finger), 
any  sort  of  essay — that  publisher  would 
amend  and  improve  my  essay. 

"  He  would  get  another  man  to  write  some 
more  to  it  or  cut  it  about  exactly  as  his  needs 
required.  Then  he  would  publish  a  book 
called  Dentistry  by  Mark  Twain,  that  little 
essay  and  some  other  things  not  mine  added. 
Theology  would  make  another  book,  and  so  on. 
I  do  not  consider  that  fair.  It's  an  insult. 
But  he's  dead  now,  I  think.  I  didn't  kill  him. 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  nonsense  talked 
about  international  copyright.  The  proper 
way  to  treat  a  copyright  is  to  make  it  exactly 
like  real  estate  in  every  way. 

"  It  will  settle  itself  under  these  con 
ditions.  If  Congress  were  to  bring  in  a  law 
that  a  man's  life  was  not  to  extend  over  a 
hundred  and  sixty  years,  somebody  would 


American  Notes  257 

laugh.  That  law  wouldn't  concern  anybody. 
The  man  would  be  out  of  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  court.  A  term  of  years  in  copyright 
comes  to  exactly  the  same  thing.  No  law 
can  make  a  book  live  or  cause  it  to  die  before 
the  appointed  time. 

"  Tottletown,  Cal.,  was  a  new  town,  with  a 
population  of  three  thousand — banks,  fire- 
brigade,  brick  buildings,  and  all  the  modern 
improvements.  It  lived,  it  flourished,  and  it 
disappeared.  To-day  no  man  can  put  his 
foot  on  any  remnant  of  Tottletown,  Cal.  It's 
dead.  London  continues  to  exist.  Bill  Smith, 
author  of  a  book  read  for  the  next  year  or  so 
is  real  estate  in  Tottletown.  William  Shake 
speare,  whose  works  are  extensively  read,  is 
real  estate  in  London.  Let  Bill  Smith,  equally 
with  Mr.  Shakespeare  now  deceased,  have  as 
complete  a  control  over  his  copyright  as  he 
would  over  his  real  estate.  Let  him  gamble 
it  away,  drink  it  away,  or — give  it  to  the 
church.  Let  his  heirs  and  assigns  treat  it  in 
the  same  manner. 

"  Every  now  and  again  I  go  up  to  Washing 
ton,  sitting  on  a  board  to  drive  that  sort  of 
view  into  Congress.  Congress  takes  its  ar 
guments  against  international  copyright  de 
livered  ready  made,  and — Congress  isn't  very 
strong.  I  put  the  real-estate  view  of  the  case 
before  one  of  the  Senators. 

"  He  said  :  *  Suppose  a  man  has  written  a 
book  that  will  live  forever  ? ' 


258  American  Notes 

"  I  said  :  *  Neither  you  nor  I  will  ever  live 
to  see  that  man,  but  we'll  assume  it.  What 
then  ? ' 

"  He  said  :  *  I  want  to  protect  the  world 
against  that  man's  heirs  and  assigns,  working 
under  your  theory.' 

"  I  said  :  '  You  think  that  all  the  world  has 
no  commercial  sense.  The  book  that  will  live 
forever  can't  be  artificially  kept  up  at  inflated 
prices.  There  will  always  be  very  expensive 
editions  of  it  and  cheap  ones  issuing  side  by 
side.' 

"  Take  the  case  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novels," 
Mark  Twain  continued,  turning  to  me. 
"  When  the  copyright  notes  protected  them,  I 
bought  editions  as  expensive  as  I  could  afford, 
because  I  liked  them.  At  the  same  time  the 
same  firm  were  selling  editions  that  a  cat  might 
buy.  They  had  their  real  estate,  and  not 
being  fools,  recognized  that  one  portion  of  the 
plot  could  be  worked  as  a  gold  mine,  another 
as  a  vegetable  garden,  and  another  as  a  marble 
quarry.  Do  you  see  ?  " 

What  I  saw  with  the  greatest  clearness  was 
Mark  Twain  being  forced  to  fight  for  the  sim 
ple  proposition  that  a  man  has  as  much  right 
to  the  work  of  his  brains  (think  of  the  heresy 
of  it !)  as  to  the  labor  of  his  hands.  When  the 
old  lion  roars,  the  young  whelps  growl.  I 
growled  assentingly,  and  the  talk  ran  on  from 
books  in  general  to  his  own  in  particular. 

Growing  bold,  and  feeling  that  I  had  a  few 


American  Notes  259 

hundred  thousand  folk  at  my  back,  I  demanded 
whether  Tom  Sawyer  married  Judge  Thatcher's 
daughter  and  whether  we  were  ever  going  to 
hear  of  Tom  Sawyer  as  a  man. 

"  I  haven't  decided,"  quoth  Mark  Twain, 
getting  up,  filling  his  pipe,  and  walking  up 
and  down  the  room  in  his  slippers.  "  I  have 
a  notion  of  writing  the  sequel  to  Tom  Sawyer 
in  two  ways.  In  one  I  would  make  him  rise 
to  great  honor  and  go  to  Congress,  and  in  the 
other  I  should  hang  him.  Then  the  friends  and 
enemies  of  the  book  could  take  their  choice." 

Here  I  lost  my  reverence  completely,  and 
protested  against  any  theory  of  the  sort,  be 
cause  to  me  at  least,  Tom  Sawyer  was  real. 

"  Oh,  he  is  real,"  said  Mark  Twain.  "  He's 
all  the  boy  that  I  have  known  or  recollect , 
but  that  would  be  a  good  way  of  ending  the 
book  "  ;  then,  turning  round,  "  because,  when 
you  come  to  think  of  it,  neither  religion,  train 
ing,  nor  education  avails  anything  against  the 
force  of  circumstances  that  drive  a  man. 
Suppose  we  took  the  next  four  and  twenty 
years  of  Tom  Sawyer's  life,  and  gave  a  little 
joggle  to  the  circumstances  that  controlled 
him.  He  would,  logically^  and  according  to 
the  joggle,  turn  out  a  rip  or  an  angel." 

"  Do  you  believe  that,  then  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.  Isn't  it  what  you  call  Kismet  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  don't  give  him  two  joggles  and 
show  the  result,  because  he  isn't  your  property 
any  more.  He  belongs  to  us." 

\ 


260  American  Notes 

He  laughed — a  large,  wholesome  laugh— 
and  this  began  a  dissertation  on  the  rights  of 
a  man  to  do  what  he  liked  with  his  own  crea 
tions,  which  being  a  matter  of  purely  profes 
sional  interest,  I  will  mercifully  omit. 

Returning  to  the  big  chair,  he,  speaking  of 
truth  and  the  like  in  literature,  said  that  an 
autobiography  was  the  one  work  in  which  a 
man,  against  his  own  will  and  in  spite  of  his 
utmost  striving  to  the  contrary,  revealed  him 
self  in  his  true  light  to  the  world. 

"  A  good  deal  of  your  life  on  the  Mississipi 
is  autobiographical,  isn't  it  ? "  I  asked. 

"  As  near  as  it  can  be — when  a  man  is 
writing  to  a  book  and  about  himself.  But  in 
genuine  autobiography,  I  believe  it  is  impos 
sible  for  a  man  to  tell  the  truth  about  himself 
or  to  avoid  impressing  the  reader  with  the 
truth  about  himself. 

"  I  made  an  experiment  once.  I  got  a 
friend  of  mine — a  man  painfully  given  to 
speak  the  truth  on  all  occasions — a  man  who 
wouldn't  dream  of  telling  a  lie — and  I  made 
him  write  his  autobiography  for  his  own 
amusement  and  mine.  He  did  it.  The  man 
uscript  would  have  made  an  octavo  volume, 
but — good,  honest  man  that  he  was — in  every 
single  detail  of  his  life  that  I  knew  about  he 
turned  out,  on  paper,  a  formidable  liar.  He 
could  not  help  himself. 

"  It  is  not  in  human  nature  to  write  the 
truth  about  itself.  None  the  less  the  reader 


American  Notes  261 

gets  a  general  impression  from  an  autobiog 
raphy  whether  the  man  is  a  fraud  or  a  good 
man.  The  reader  can't  give  his  reasons  any 
more  than  a  man  can  explain  why  a  woman 
struck  him  as  being  lovely  when  he  doesn't 
remember  her  hair,  eyes,  teeth,  or  figure. 
And  the  impression  that  the  reader  gets  is  a 
correct  one." 

"  Do  you  ever  intend  to  write  an  autobiog 
raphy  ?" 

"  If  I  do,  it  will  be  as  other  men  have  done 
— with  the  most  earnest  desire  to  make  myself 
out  to  be  the  better  man  in  every  little  business 
that  has  been  to  my  discredit;  and  I  shall 
fail,  like  the  others,  to  make  my  readers  be 
lieve  anything  except  the  truth." 

This  naturally  led  to  a  discussion  on  con 
science.  Then  said  Mark  Twain,  and  his 
words  are  mighty  and  to  be  remembered  : — 

"  Your  conscience  is  a  nuisance.  A  con 
science  is  like  a  child.  If  you  pet  it  and  play 
with  it  and  let  it  have  everything  that  it  wants, 
it  becomes  spoiled  and  intrudes  on  all  your 
amusements  and  most  of  your  griefs.  Treat 
your  conscience  as  you  would  treat  anything 
else.  When  it  is  rebellious,  spank  it — be 
severe  with  it,  argue  with  it,  prevent  it  from 
coming  to  play  with  you  at  all  hours,  and  you 
will  secure  a  good  conscience  ;  that  is  to  say, 
a  properly  trained  one.  A  spoiled  one  simply 
destroys  all  the  pleasure  in  life.  I  think  I 
have  reduced  mine  to  order.  At  least,  I 


262  American  Notes 

haven't  heard  from  it  for  some  time.  Per* 
haps  I  have  killed  it  from  over-severity.  It's 
wrong  to  kill  a  child,  but,  in  spite  of  all  I 
have  said,  a  conscience  differs  from  a  child 
in  many  ways.  Perhaps  it's  best  when  it's 
dead." 

Here  he  told  me  a  little — such  things  as  a 
man  may  tell  a  stranger — of  his  early  life  and 
upbringing,  and  in  what  manner  he  had  been 
influenced  for  good  by  the  example  of  his 
parents.  He  spoke  always  through  his  eyes, 
a  light  under  the  heavy  eyebrows ;  anon 
crossing  the  room  with  a  step  as  light  as  a 
girl's,  to  show  me  some  book  or  other ;  then 
resuming  his  walk  up  and  down  the  room, 
puffing  at  the  cob  pipe.  I  would  have  given 
much  for  nerve  enough  to  demand  the  gift  of 
that  pipe — value,  five  cents  when  new.  I 
understood  why  certain  savage  tribes  ardently 
desired  the  liver  of  brave  men  slain  in  com 
bat.  That  pipe  would  have  given  me,  per 
haps,  a  hint  of  his  keen  insight  into  the  souls 
of  men.  But  he  never  laid  it  aside  within 
stealing  reach. 

Once,  indeed,  he  put  his  hand  on  my  shoul 
der.  It  was  an  investiture  of  the  Star  of 
India,  blue  silk,  trumpets,  and  diamond-stud 
ded  jewel,  ail  complete.  If,  hereafter,  in  the 
changes  and  chances  of  this  mortal  life,  I  fall 
to  cureless  ruin,  I  will  tell  the  superintendent 
of  the  workhouse  that  Mark  Twain  once  put 
his  hand  on  my  shoulder  ;  and  he  shall  give 


American  Notes  263 

me  a  room  to  myself  and  a  double  allowance 
of  paupers'  tobacco. 

"  I  never  read  novels  myself,"  said  he,  "  ex 
cept  when  the  popular  persecution  forces  me 
to — when  people  plague  me  to  know  what  I 
think  of  the  last  book  that  every  one  is  read 
ing." 

"  And  how  did  the  latest  persecution  affect 
you  ? " 

"  Robert  ?  "  said  he,  interrogatively. 

I  nodded. 

"  I  read  it,  of  course,  for  the  workmanship. 
That  made  me  think  I  had  neglected  novels 
too  long — that  there  might  be  a  good  many 
books  as  graceful  in  style  somewhere  on  the 
shelves ;  so  I  began  a  course  of  novel  read 
ing.  I  have  dropped  it  now;  it  did  not 
amuse  me.  But  as  regards  Robert,  the  effect 
on  me  was  exactly  as  though  a  singer  of 
street  ballads  were  to  hear  excellent  music 
from  a  church  organ.  I  didn't  stop  to  ask 
whether  the  music  was  legitimate  or  necessary. 
I  listened,  and  I  liked  what  I  heard.  I  am 
speaking  of  the  grace  and  beauty  of  the  style." 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  "  every  man  has 
his  private  opinion  about  a  book.  But  that  is 
my  private  opinion.  If  I  had  lived  in  the  be 
ginning  of  things  I  should  have  looked  around 
the  township  to  see  what  popular  opinion 
thought  of  the  murder  of  Abel  before  I  openly 
condemned  Cain.  I  should  have  had  my 
private  opinion,  of  course,  but  I  shouldn't 


264  American  Notes 

have  expressed  it  until  I  had  felt  the  way, 
You  have  my  private  opinion  about  that  book. 
I  don't  know  what  my  public  ones  are  ex 
actly.  They  won't  upset  the  earth." 

He  recurled  himself  into  the  chair  and 
talked  of  other  things. 

"  I  spend  nine  months  of  the  year  at  Hart 
ford.  I  have  long  ago  satisfied  myself  that 
there  is  no  hope  of  doing  much  work  during 
those  nine  months.  People  come  in  and  call. 
They  call  at  all  hours,  about  everything  in  the 
world.  One  day  I  thought  I  would  keep  a 
list  of  interruptions.  It  began  this  way : — 

"  A  man  came  and  would  see  no  one  but 
Mr.  Clemens.  He  was  an  agent  for  photo 
gravure  reproductions  of  Salon  pictures.  I 
very  seldom  use  Salon  pictures  in  my  books. 

"  After  that  man  another  man,  who  refused 
to  see  any  one  but  Mr.  Clemens,  came  to 
make  me  write  to  Washington  about  some 
thing.  I  saw  him.  I  saw  a  third  man,  then  a 
fourth.  By  this  time  it  was  noon.  I  had  grown 
tired  of  keeping  the  list.  I  wished  to  rest. 

"  But  the  fifth  man  was  the  only  one  of  the 
crowd  with  a  card  of  his  own.  He  sent  up 
his  card.  '  Ben  Koontz,  Hannibal,  Mo,*  I 
was  raised  in  Hannibal.  Ben  was  an  old 
schoolmate  of  mine.  Consequently  I  threw 
the  house  wide  open  and  rushed  with  both 
hands  out  at  a  big,  fat,  heavy  man,  who  was 
not  the  Ben  I  had  ever  known — nor  anything 
like  him. 


American  Notes  265 

«  •  But  is  it  you,  Ben  ? '  I  said.  « You've 
altered  in  the  last  thousand  years.' 

"  The  fat  man  said :  « Well,  I'm  not  Koontz 
exactly,  but  I  met  him  down  in  Missouri,  and 
he  told  me  to  be  sure  and  call  on  you,  and  he 
gave  me  his  card,  and  ' — here  he  acted  the 
little  scene  for  my  benefit — *  if  you  can  wait  a 
minute  till  I  can  get  out  the  circulars — I'm 
not  Koontz  exactly,  but  I'm  traveling  with  the 
fullest  line  of  rods  you  ever  saw.'  ' 

"  And  what  happened  ?  "  I  asked  breath 
lessly. 

"  I  shut  the  door.  He  was  not  Ben  Koontz 
— exactly — not  my  old  schoolfellow,  but  I  had 
shaken  him  by  both  hands  in  love,  and  .  .  . 
I  had  been  bearded  by  a  lightning-rod  man  in 
my  own  house. 

"  As  I  was  saying,  I  do  very  little  work  in 
Hartford.  I  come  here  for  three  months 
every  year,  and  I  work  four  or  five  hours  a 
day  in  a  study  down  the  garden  of  that  little 
house  on  the  hill.  Of  course,  I  do  not  object 
to  two  or  three  interruptions.  When  a  man  is 
in  the  full  swing  of  his  work  these  little  things 
do  not  affect  him.  Eight  or  ten  or  twenty  in 
terruptions  retard  composition." 

I  was  burning  to  ask  him  all  manner  of  im 
pertinent  questions,  as  to  which  of  his  works 
he  himself  preferred,  and  so  forth ;  but,  stand 
ing  in  awe  of  his  eyes,  I  dared  not.  He  spoke 
on,  and  I  listened,  groveling. 

It  was  a  question  of  mental  equipment  that 


266  American  Notes 

was  on  the  carpet,  and  I  am  still  wondering 
whether  he  meant  what  he  said. 

"  Personally,  I  never  care  for  fiction  or 
story-books.  What  I  like  to  read  about  are 
facts  and  statistics  of  any  kind.  If  they  are 
only  facts  about  the  raising  of  radishes,  they 
interest  me.  Just  now,  for  instance,  before 
you  came  in  " — he  pointed  to  an  encyclopaedia 
on  the  shelves — "  I  was  reading  an  article 
about  '  Mathematics.*  Perfectly  pure  mathe 
matics. 

"  My  own  knowledge  of  mathematics  stops 
at  '  twelve  times  twelve,'  but  I  enjoyed  that 
article  immensely.  I  didn't  understand  a 
word  of  it ;  but  facts,  or  what  a  man  believes 
to  be  facts,  are  always  delightful.  That 
mathematical  fellow  believed  in  his  facts.  So 
do  I.  Get  your  facts  first  and  " — the  voice  dies 
away  to  an  almost  inaudible  drone — "  then 
you  can  distort  'em  as  much  as  you  please." 

Bearing  this  precious  advice  in  my  bosom, 
I  left ;  the  great  man  assuring  me  with  gentle 
kindness  that  I  had  not  interrupted  him  in 
the  least.  Once  outside  the  door,  I  yearned 
to  go  back  and  ask  some  questions — it  was 
easy  enough  to  think  of  them  now — but  his 
time  was  his  own,  though  his  books  belonged 
to  me. 

I  should  have  ample  time  to  look  back  to 
that  meeting  across  the  graves  of  the  days. 
But  it  was  sad  to  think  of  the  things  he  had 
not  spoken  about. 


American  Notes  267 

In  San  Francisco  the  men  of  The  Call  told 
me  many  legends  of  Mark's  apprenticeship  in 
their  paper  five  and  twenty  years  ago ;  how 
he  was  a  reporter  delightfully  incapable  of 
reporting  according  to  the  needs  of  the  day. 
He  preferred,  so  they  said,  to  coil  himself 
into  a  heap  and  meditate  until  the  last  minute. 
Then  he  would  produce  copy  bearing  no 
sort  of  relationship  to  his  legitimate  work — 
copy  that  made  the  editor  swear  horribly,  and 
the  readers  of  The  Call  ask  for  more. 

I  should  like  to  have  heard  Mark's  version 
of  that,  with  some  stories  of  his  joyous  and 
variegated  past.  He  has  been  journeyman 
printer  (in  those  days  he  wandered  from  the 
banks  of  the  Missouri  even  to  Philadelphia), 
pilot  cub  and  full-blown  pilot,  soldier  of  the 
South  (that  was  for  three  weeks  only),  pri 
vate  secretary  to  a  Lieutenant-Governor  of 
Nevada  (that  displeased  him),  miner,  editor, 
special  correspondent  in  the  Sandwich  Islands, 
and  the  Lord  only  knows  what  else.  If  so 
experienced  a  man  could  by  any  means  be 
made  drunk,  it  would  be  a  glorious  thing  to 
fill  him  up  with  composite  liquors,  and,  in  the 
language  of  his  own  country,  "  let  him  retro 
spect."  But  these  eyes  will  never  see  that 
orgy  fit  for  the  gods  1 




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